


Devil Bringer

by JustVisible



Series: When the Devil Cries [4]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Frottage, Hate Sex, Homelessness, Minor Character Death, Multi, Polyamory Negotiations, Rentboys, learning about the past ooh boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 12:25:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3936706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustVisible/pseuds/JustVisible
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most people have meanings attached to their tattoos. Usually it’s symbolic...or there’s a story behind why they got it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nero's Tattoo

Nero woke up, naked in bed, with a cock sliding between his bum cheeks.

There are few things in life — in Nero’s limited opinion — that are better to wake up to than that. Now it’s such a common luxury, it’s pretty much ritualistic.

He felt lips on his shoulder and a tight chest pressed to his back. Above all, he felt that dick, rutting against his tender, eager hole. It was well greased, but with the breeding session they’d had before falling unconscious he could’ve entered Nero without any lube at all and it wouldn’t have made a lick of difference. The kid parted his lips and started to roll his hips back into him, trying to undulate in a way that provided the best stimulation…and maybe just trick-slip that cock inside.

“Dante,” He whispered, putting a name to the sensation.

“Morning, babe.” Came the reply. “You don’t mind an early breakfast, do you?”

His dick snagged at his entrance mid-rub, prodding, threatening to pass the ring and enter, before he pulled back and kept sliding up and down his crack smoothly.

Nero tried to control his breathing as he said, “…stupid question…hurry up and put it in.”

A chuckle; as if he found something funny. There’s always something funny with Dante. A hand came around and gripped Nero’s pectoral. He squeezed it as if it was a woman’s breast, kneading the firm muscle in his palm.

Dante kissed Nero’s neck; such a gentle display for Dante. “We go my speed, kid, not yours.”

That hand glided down lower until it wrapped around Nero’s dick. There was something very sensual about all this…so very loving. Must just be the slow build up. There was a rustling in the sheets as Dante bent his knee, before he thrust inside; entering him hard and smooth. Nero groaned.

It didn’t last very long — spent as they were —but what they lacked in time they made up for in intensity. When Dante had shot his latest load to mingle with his past releases into Nero’s ass, he was half on top of him, their skins slick with sweat. Poor Nero found he was drooling into the pillow and trembling uncontrollably. He felt sufficiently dumbed down by the fucking he had just been treated to.

Dante kept his weight off of him as his bones turned to mercury. It took him a moment to even realise he was grinning, before consciously wiping it from his face. He swallowed — his throat dry — before he moved to pull out of Nero.

A tattooed hand reached around to grab his ass. Nero’s nails bit into his cheek, almost clawing at him as he brought him forward, slotting their hips back together. He didn’t want him to pull out just yet; wanted him to stay inside for as long as possible. Forever would be a fantasy.

Dante was reluctant to obey to the silent demand, but obey he did. They’re balls touched and Dante sighed into the back of Nero’s head. His tired cock stayed inside that torturously slick furnace. Damn that kid…he could feel his anal muscles twitching. Maybe he couldn’t help it, but on one particularly tight squeeze, he knew he was at least doing _some_ of it on purpose.

“You really like having me in you.” Dante noted.

“Yes.”

Desperately clingy was the closest to affectionate Nero seemed to be able to pull off those days. At least according to him. So when he felt Dante finally roll over and out, he fought back the urge to reach for him again. Instead he turned over as well so he was facing him. He merely looked at him. He was privileged with the chance to stare as the older man laid there with his eyes closed.

Dante reminded him of those worn down bottle shards you find on the beach. He could picture what he looked like as a younger man — not too different to how Nero must’ve looked — all lithe muscles and a handsome face.

And sharp.

Sharp and hazardous, no doubt, like a broken bottle. The years have aged him beautifully — hardened him, true, but those sharp edges have rounded off, giving him the illusion of a rare jewel.

Nero didn’t stop himself from reaching out this time; trailing his fingers down Dante’s chiselled chest. Dante rolled over to face him, bringing them close together, and kissed him. Nero lazily returned the kiss, his hand coming around to trace down his spine, as if he was drawing him with a finger.

He felt Dante shiver, goosebumps raising on his shoulders. His reaction made Nero grin against his lips, before his hand came down further to glide over the mounds of his firm ass.

Dante’s lips stilled as he reached back to grab Nero’s wondering hand, and instead bringing it to Dante’s reawakening erection. The line was silently drawn.

Nero dutifully began stroking him. Despite being thrown off by him not wanting to be touched in the rear, he couldn’t help but be impressed by his libido. If the average guy fired off like a revolver, Dante was an assault rifle.

“Did you slip a couple of viagras before waking me up?” Nero asked.

The slap on his ass came like a whip. It surprised him, but the pain didn’t fail to arouse.

Dante laughed, smoothing his hand over Nero’s reddened cheek as if he was trying to soothe the burn. With such a rough palm, however, it just served to agitate it. “Actually, I’m just a God in the bedroom.”

“Should I erect a shrine in your name?”

“erect something else first.”

That he did, though it was taking a while. He was still a little put off by Dante’s ‘no touching my tush’ rule. Nero was fine with being the bottom, but he still needed to remind Dante that he was a man. No particular reason, he could enjoy being the ‘girl’ every now and then, but he also enjoyed being a guy. Enjoyed it very much, in fact.

So he wiggled a bit closer to Dante on the bed, and grabbed hold of both their cocks in the one hand, and started stroking. Dante was a little softer than Nero was, seeing as Dante was still climbing up from his orgasm, while Nero had yet to reach his for the morning. Dante’s pliability made it easier to grab hold of them both; using Nero’s raging stiffy as a sort of crutch.

With Nero frotting them, Dante quickly became hard as steel. He was almost painfully sensitive at that point, but nothing too bad that it could convince him to push Nero away. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done this…must’ve been his teens? Frottage was just one of those things that stopped happening over time…such as make out sessions that never lead to anything more. Except for — maybe — a bit of post-smooching cuddling. Something a Dante from a long time ago did all the time. Nowadays he had ignored them for the more mature pleasures of hard fucking. Still, those forgotten acts…they weren’t bad.

He closed his eyes, licked his lips, and let Nero do whatever he wanted.

He gave them a long, tight stroke, squeezing the heads of their cocks together, making pre-cum ooze out and mingle between his fingers. The kid leaned up and kissed him. Dante returned it passionately.

Nero was too close too soon, and had to let go of himself and pay more attention to Dante. When he figured they were both on the edge of the cliff, he brought them together in his palm again and resumed his mutual stroking.

Nero saw the point where Dante started to cum before the obvious evidence. He gripped Nero’s hip, started thrusting into his hand — against the underside of his cock — and groaned into their lip lock. He always did that; gripped Nero tight on the hip while having an orgasm, as if he needed the support.

At the first splash of cum on the head of Nero’s penis — cum that wasn’t his own — he was pushed to his finish. He writhed and swore as he drew it out. Cum jetted out and coated their stomaches, their hands, and the sheets. They made an utter mess between them.

They lay there stewing in the aftermath for a while, breathing heavily and absolutely filthy. Dante took Nero’s hand off him, beyond done at that point. If Nero tried to pull one more climax out of him, it might just kill him.

It had been a few weeks since Vergil’s boys came over for a chat, and Dante had been busy trying to cut the last ties that connected him to his family. Every time he got rid of one problem, another one raised its head and started webbing out under the surface. A new connection, a new loose end, a new debt.

With business complications came less time for fun. Less time for Nero. So when the kid came around he always made sure to make up for lost time. The price to pay for it seemed to be measured in orgasms, bruises and crisp dollar bills. Though money sometimes laid on the bedside table long after he’d left, forgotten or ignored.

Dante had made a point to start planting the money in Nero’s jeans before he woke up, that way there were no excuses. He felt like he had to.

As they laid there, Dante found himself tracing the patterns in Nero’s tattoo. He was enthralled by the details in it. Beautiful, but undeniably cool. He loved the ornate grooves that webbed his arm.

“I like this tat,” Dante said aloud.

“Thanks.”

“Most people have meanings attached to their ink,” He went on. “Usually it’s symbolic, or there’s a story behind why they got it.”

He kept tracing over the lines as if he were trying to read braille.

“Everyone knows that.” Nero muttered.

He looked up to catch Dante’s eye. He didn’t like the question he saw there. He didn’t want to have to answer it.

Dante spoke it anyway: “What’s the story with yours?”

Before Nero could even begin down any sort of road like _‘none of your business’_ or _‘I don’t have a story, I just like the look of this tattoo’_ the phone rang.

Dante had been privately praying that he wouldn’t have to do anything today. It looked as if he’d jinxed it. He was tempted to shoot the infernal thing. Instead, after the ringing got too much, he got up. Nero enjoyed the view as Dante answered it in the nude.

“Call back when I’m awake,” He growled into the receiver.

The voice on the other end seemed to hold him at that thought.

He listened for a long while, looking more and more tense — and at the same time, disinterested — as it went on.

“This is all very fascinating, bro, but I don’t see how this is my problem anymore.” He muttered, rubbing his eyes.

A pause, Nero sat up. Dante looked back at him, his eyes tired and serious. He gestured for Nero to go ahead and have a shower. The young man obeyed.

When he came out, Dante had finished his phone call and wasn’t looking much happier. Dante told him — as politely as he could — to leave. Nero got dressed and left without a fuss, fully aware of the crinkling sound in his back pocket like dry autumn leaves.

 

* * *

 

 

Nero didn’t know his name, but that was no drama; he hadn’t even bothered asking for Nero’s.

The day had been uneventful up until that point. The only highlight being the moment Nero checked into a hotel for the first time, without it being under someone else's name. He slept through the day, and the moment he woke up, he went on the prowl.

They’d met in the bar. Nero had just went into the bathroom to suck another dude off. The man had seen it all play out. And when he saw Nero come out wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he stared. When he saw him stretch like a cat, showing off his belly and the low ride of his pants, the man rubbed his new wedding ring thoughtfully. When Nero winked at him for staring, he downed his drink, got up, and went in for a taste of the bad stuff.

The dive was for straight men. More accurately; angry, frustrated and decidedly drunk men. The type of men who can get very violent and very confused very quickly. Just as Nero liked it.

Nero found it pitiful that they had to roll around in a ball of self hate, denial and — finally — excuses before acting on their desires, but the end result was anything but disappointing.

The man — who’s name Nero didn’t know — was angry. The expensive new ring on his right hand had given Nero a split lip to prove it.

He’d thrown Nero out the back into the alleyway, where dusk was just starting to break in long streaking shadows and orange lights. He really laid it on heavy; gripping the punk by his bleached hair before slapping him around. He slapped with a palm on the cheek, before returning with a backhand. He let go of his hair and Nero staggered back against the dumpster.

Nero’s face stung as he tongued his lip and tasted copper. He then touched the little scratch on his cheekbone where the wedding ring had caught his face. Nothing too bad, might not even scar. He didn’t bother straightening up. He figured his crippled-looking posture might hide his erection. And maybe, if he looked submissive enough, it might cause the man to become even more primal and violent.

“I sincerely hope you don’t treat your new wife like this, sir.” Nero baited.

Hook, line and sinker.

He was shoved against the dumpster and the man spat in his face, “It’s not of your business what I—…don’t you dare—…”

He stumbled over his words, too angry and too drunk to think of comebacks. Nero grinned up at him, pulling the cut on his lip.

“I-…you-…what-…pardon? You alright there, you need help getting your words out?” Nero said.

The jest earned him a knee to the stomach. He buckled, the breath knocked straight out of his lungs. He was almost brought to his knees but those paws gripped him by his vest and brought him up again, the edge of the dumpster digging into his back. Very suddenly the man’s mouth was on his, all clanking teeth and a tongue that seemed to be trying to fuck his face.

The stranger was pissed. There was something so very infuriating about how attractive this punk was. As if men shouldn’t dress they way he did, as if men shouldn’t talk back the way he did, demand attention from other men the way he did. It was sickening. Aggravating. He needed to be thrown around; _punished_. Shown what happens when you act stupid and slutty and queer.

The thought of being the one to deliver said punishment to such a creature was beguiling.

Nero pushed him back an inch just to get out his next line. “I hope you’ve got the dollars to pay for this.”

Now _that_ he had a comeback for. He gritted his teeth and said, “As if you’re doing this for the money.”

He dived in for another kiss — if you could call it that. His fingers dug into Nero, to the point the young man’s collarbone felt like it was threatening to break from the pressure of his thumb.

With one hand gliding up his neck and into his hair, he said it again; growled against his lips this time, _“As if this is for the money.”_

He gripped Nero’s hair, pulling at the strands, and let his other hand come down to feel his tush. He squeezed. What a nice ass. Such a nice ass was wasted on a man…why couldn’t his wife have a nice ass? That wondering hand moved around to pop the buttons on Nero’s jeans. The man felt a sickening rush of pleasure when he felt the bulge at the front. Hard, hot, and notably male. Nero moaned into his mouth, a deep voice reverberating in that pale throat. He hated himself.

Nero slipped a condom out of his pockets and went to open the man’s fly, but his hands were swatted away. Instead the stranger grabbed the casing himself and spun Nero around. He pushed the kid front first against the dumpster and yanked his jeans down to his ankles.

He fumbled with himself; in a hurry to pull his erection out of his pants and slip on the condom.

He didn’t have any lube, only the small amount that the fresh condom already offered. He spat on Nero’s hole, before using the tip of his rubber-encased cock to rub it in. He than forced his way inside without further prompt or warning.

Nero gritted his teeth and groaned. It burned going in, the lubrication so scarce he might as well have gone in dry. The fact he entered _slowly_ was his only mercy.

Slow going in or not, the moment his balls were pressed to Nero’s taint, he groaned — a shaky, tortured sound as if he was hurting himself by doing this — and soon got right into fucking Nero. His rhythm was harsh and shallow; practically masturbating with Nero’s body.

Nero jacked off feverishly, focusing on the pressure of a having cock inside of him again. He squeezed his ass muscles around the intrusion, a grin coming over his face at the full feeling it gave him.

Nero was noisy. The man wanted to hate it, but he couldn’t. He loved the sounds he made, loved the young, masculine voice as it echoed in the alleyway.

“deeper,” He begged, “fuck me deeper, c’mon!”

“Shut up,” He growled back, wanting exactly the opposite.

Instead he fucked him harder, more aggressively, which drove his dick an inch further in, but no more. Nero felt like he was tearing him to shreds back there, but knew it was probably fine. Probably. He really couldn’t care. There was one side of his mind that wanted this to go on forever, than there was another that just wanted to reach his climax, chasing after it like a dog chasing after a car.

The man pressed his hand on Nero’s lower back, wanting to see it dip. Nero complied. Most likely by accident, the shift in posture made his dick rub against Nero’s prostate. The boy cried out louder, throwing his head back and wanking at the speed of light. An arm hooked around his throat, lips were at his ear, and he went silent. Not because the arm physically silenced him, but because he hit the point of pleasure where no sound would come out, the same way when laughter becomes so intense, you reach the level where you just sit there shaking, open mouthed and mute.

He latched onto the feeling, juicing the moment for all it had to offer. The pounding of a cock inside of him, the firm muscles of an arm squeezing his throat, the hand stroking his cock rapidly, and a name — uninvited to the party — ran through his head like a mantra.

_…Dante, Dante, Dante…_

His climax hit him like lightning. Despite the intensity of it, his cum merely oozed out, rupturing a large load over his fingers like a volcano, but disappointingly not as intense as it could’ve been.

“You fucking sick-…” Came the start of an insult from behind him, but was cut off for a lack of brain power.

The man pushed him against the dumpster again and finished inside of him. He burst into the condom; none of his fluids actually touched Nero.

The moment the wave passed, and they were left as two semi-gay men panting in an alleyway, the stranger pulled out. He peeled off the used condom and tossed it into the dumpster, where the lid was open a crack next to Nero’s head.

He was tucking himself away and walking towards the door to the bar, when Nero called out, “You gonna pay for that?”

He stopped, swore, and fished out his wallet.

He came back and threw the money at Nero with a sour, _“There."_

Nero leisurely bent down and picked the notes off the ground, mooning the stranger, before simultaneously standing straight and pulling up his pants. He shoved the dollars in his pocket, enjoying the scrunching sound they made.

He turned to him with a triumphant grin and saluted with his ‘clean’ hand, “Have a good night, Mr.Married Man.”

Nero walked down the alleyway, steps slow with a lack of direction for the evening. The man opened the door to the bar, and nearly crashed into a large body.

He stuttered. “S-s-sorry, I didn’t uh…sorry, excuse me.”

He stepped around him and entered the bar, praying he didn’t see the male prostitute and come to any hasty conclusions. Especially a correct hasty conclusion. He had a wife after all.

The man did indeed come to a correct hasty conclusion, and he wasn’t too pleased about it. He closed the door and strutted after the boy.

Nero had a handkerchief out and was wiping the cum off his hand. He watched the strand web between the fabric like snot. Just as he was about to decide whether to put the handkerchief in his pocket to wash later, or to just throw it in the bin, Nero was harshly grabbed from behind.

The arm lock was strong, one he found he couldn’t break out of. His assaulter shoved Nero against the wall, the rough bricks poking him through the denim.

He didn’t stop struggling until he heard the familiar voice by his ear. “What’s a little punk like you doing back here?”

Nero grinned, and tried to look over his shoulder, just so he can admire that face, “Makin’ a livin’.”

“A dangerous way to make a living, wouldn’t you agree?” Dante growled, pressing up close. “You wouldn’t want someone seedy finding you in an alleyway, would you?”

“Wouldn’t I?” Nero purred.

“You’re a wicked boy.”

Nero grinned, and pressed his rear against him, a little disappointed when he didn’t feel an erection.

“You’re a seedy guy.”

Dante chuckled, before releasing Nero. The kid was a little taken back by the sudden loss of a firm grip. He enjoyed being manhandle. He turned around to look up at Dante. He couldn’t read his expression. The older man hadn’t backed off though, still trapping Nero against the wall with his body.

Their lips met in a heated kiss. Nero reached down to start stroking Dante’s crotch. He was elated when he felt a twitch in the older man’s pants. His hopes were trampled when Dante gripped his wrist and plied his grip off of him.

Once again, he tried to read the look in Dante’s eyes, before the older man whispered, “How about we get a bite to eat? I haven’t eaten all day, kid.”

Nero furrowed his brows before going, “Eat what?”

“I dunno,” he muttered, “How does McDonalds sound?”

“Hate it.”

“Alright, pizza?”

Nero looked down at the scrunched handkerchief that was still in his tattooed palm. He had no real reason to say no, and there was a huge part of him that just wanted to say ‘sure’. If he was going to go along with whatever he was up to though, he needed to establish some lines. One was going to have to be Nero’s tattoo.

He nodded, “Sure.”


	2. The Outline

“Well this is…” Nero trailed off, as he looked around the small pizza shop. He rubbed the tops of his thighs nervously as they waited for their order.

“Romantic?” Dante finished.

Nero corrected him, “Civil.”

The place was nothing fancy; a small joint in a dingy food court. It was slotted amongst the other shops like a sardine can on a collector’s bookshelf. It was nice, really, but a tad low brow, which made Nero feel right at home. Knowing Dante’s lineage and not knowing his record, an inconspicuous place such as that was probably the best idea.

The two sat in an awkward silence. Nero was particularly uncomfortable. Sitting across from Dante felt nauseatingly close to a date. He found he couldn’t look him in the eye. Instead his eyes were down, staring at the opaque glass of the table. More accurately through it. His eyes were on Dante’s lap.

“Was there something you wanted from me?” The words left Nero’s mouth, and his body flushed at the double meaning.

“I felt like getting to know you,” Dante said, “Is that a problem?”

“Could be.” Nero muttered.

“Relax, I’m not a particularly nosey person. I’ve just never been one for mysteries.”

Nero’s lips pressed into a firm line.

“Let’s start with something simple,” He gestured towards his arm, “Why’d you get your tat?”

Nero looked down at the detail on his wrist as if he was checking the time. After a moment he said, “If you want to know about my tattoo, you’re going to get my life story.”

Dante sat back and put his hands behind his head. “I’ve got all day, kid. For you, I’ve got all day.”

Right when Nero opened his mouth to say something, their pizzas were placed in front of them.

Dante thanked the teenager who had given them their order, with a nice smile to go with it. Maybe it was stupid — most certainly, it was stupid — but Nero felt a little envious when Dante smiled so nicely at someone else.

“let’s build our way up to that,” Nero muttered eventually, “sound good?”

Dante looked at him with pleasant surprise, “So you’re not against talking about it?”

“That depends on your skills of persuasion.”

“Just look at my face, kid. Keep looking and I think you’ll find your resolve will crumble like a dirt wall.”

“Hah.” Nero took a bite of his pizza. “Such charm will make you a top seller on the stretch.”

They continued with their banter for a long while. It was quite refreshing. Nero hadn’t talked like that for a long time; free of stringy dealings of the flesh. Which sadly meant he stumbled over his words a lot. He mentally swore at himself whenever he used the wrong word or pronounced something wrong. It was as if the plentiful amount of sex in his life had completely numbed his wit. Still, it was there. Dante could see it, hear it; a crackle in the white ash.

“So what did you want to be growing up?” Dante muttered around a bite.

“Don’t kill me for saying this,” Nero said, “But I wanted to be a cop.”

“I won’t kill you for that; just so long as your dream didn’t come true.”

Nero laughed, but Dante didn’t.

The older man offered him a lighthearted smile though as he said, “I reckon you’d look great in a police uniform. I take it you just wanted to hold a gun?”

“Hell, yeah. Though…okay, there was more to it than that. The whole prospect just seemed really cool to me. Being the hero and all that.” Nero’s knee started to jitter. “I used to hear all the time, ‘the worst things happen after midnight’ and I wanted to be right there when it happened.”

Dante watched him silently before saying, “Well, as I’m sure you’ve found out, it’s not that great.”

“No,” Nero said, “No, it isn’t. Most cops I’ve met are just…” He didn’t finish that thought, instead he went back to eating his pizza.

Eventually he started up again, quieter now. “I use to daydream about saving hostages. A few times I even imagined rescuing people I knew personally; people in my life that were already dead.”

“I see,” Dante said for a lack of something better to say.

“Uh-huh.” Nero muttered.

“So what changed your mind about the whole police officer deal?”

Nero finished his slice and dusted off his hands. “When I got my tattoo.”

That was an opening if Dante had ever heard one. He looked at the kid pointedly, telling him to go on. Nero kept his eyes on his plate.

“My dad was a cop.” He mumbled, “He had two kids apart from me, and he wanted them to - you know - follow in his footsteps and all that. Funny enough, I was the only one who wanted to join the police force. And I was adopted.”

“You’re adopted?” Dante quirked a brow.

“Yeah. I guess you could say I’ve always been accustomed to the bed-hopping lifestyle. Been doing it since I was little. It’s only recently I’ve started fucking people to keep the beds I sleep in.”

Nero took a huge bite out of his pizza. The pause was tight and awkward, but god damn it, Nero needed it.

“My brother Credo wanted to go to college and my sister - Kyrie - well…she just wanted to sit around singing and drawing all day.” He looked up at Dante, “What was your brother like?”

Dante seemed a startled by a question being directed at _him_. He wasn’t planning on sharing his story. Though, in retrospect, he supposed it was only fair play. He sighed, crossed his arms, and tried to think.

What _was_ Vergil like? For a moment he almost couldn’t remember; all he saw was that same hard look. That same icy demeanour as if the Ice Age had frozen over early. He flipped backwards, thinking about Vergil in his younger skin. He tried chipping off years and finding if his twin had ever grown up from being a cynical old man. It was hard, because no matter his age, it started to seem like he’d always had that a hundred-year-old frosty glare on his face, and that biting, sarcastic wit. Vergil always acted like he was above everyone.

Eventually Dante had passed the death of his mother in his mental photo album. He passed the memory of a blonde woman wasting away in a hospital bed, looking instead at a tall, faceless beauty bright and warm with life. He saw a wink of fiery light as an amulet was clicked around his thin little neck. A similar jewel was than bestowed upon Vergil, who looked up into her face with an expression like melted ice-cream. And finally, _finally_ he recalled a different Vergil; a boy who _pretended_ to be serious. He who rivaled Dante in both battle and jest. He’d say battle, but really, it was just a bustling on the carpet; rolling around, punching, kicking and knocking over furniture. And laughing. Yes, he was sure there was laughter, but he couldn’t remember what it sounded like.

“Vergil was alright,” He said finally, “He always hogged everything. If I had something he didn’t, he wanted it. We had adjoining rooms growing up. Walking through the door, you’d think you had just stepped through a mirror. The rooms reflected each other perfectly. The only difference was my room was primarily red, and his was blue. We got everything we ever wanted. The catch was: whatever you have, your brother has too. Just place another object in front of the mirror.”

“Wow,” Nero said, shaking his head at the absurdity of it, before he turned the focus back on himself, “I never got that. If there was something I wanted; I never got it.”

“Couldn’t have been that bad, I’m sure.” Dante said, he felt strangely inclined to keep talking about Vergil, but he relented and let his focus drift back to Nero.

“No…I guess it wasn’t. Just that…my family was religious. Very religious. They had very stern thoughts on certain things. Things you shouldn’t do with your body, for example.” He cracked his knuckles. “Kyrie wanted a tattoo; one on her chest. They’d told her no, to be put bluntly. You should’ve heard the things they called her.

“But it was nothing compared to when she came out. They actually hit her, told her to fuck off out of the house. She just ran into her room. Kyrie was such a sweet girl. How they talked though, you’d think she was the devil incarnate. They blamed me in the end; I was supposedly a bad influence on her — infecting her with my gayness or some shit.”

 _Ah, right_ , Dante thought. _One of_ those _families_.

Nero kept going, he seemed relieved to be getting all of this off his chest. “My dad wasn’t entirely happy when I came home with the outline done. It was still fresh. Raw. The moment he saw it, he grabbed my wrist, right on the worst of it — shit, it hurts so bad on the bone — and he shouted in my face. I’m trying to remember a bible quote he kept saying…something like, ‘Ye shall not make any cuttings in your flesh for the dead, nor print any marks upon you.' After he did that to me, I'd had enough. Credo helped me bail, and I took the next train out of there.”

“Cuttings for the dead?" Dante inquired, "What did that have to do with anything?”

Nero’s expression turned to stone. He seemed to be struggling now, unsure about continuing, trying to build another dam to stop the flow of words that had started getting carried away.

Then, very quietly, he whispered, “Well…Kyrie…after coming out…she…” and stopped, feeling as if he’d said enough.

“Oh.” Dante said.

Nero looked down at his remaining pizza. It was going cold. He suddenly stood up and collected his coat.

“Thanks for the food and all.”

Dante was a little startled, but sat back and tried to act breezy, “Yeah, no worries. Any time.”

Nero made to leave but Dante stopped him.

“You’ll be coming around tomorrow night.” It wasn’t a question, or a request.

Nero gave a little salute and said, “Yessir.”

Dante looked up at him, his eyes full of earnest. “You know, kid, you can come around whenever you want. The doors are always open and the bouncers know you now. Consider Devil May Cry a home.”

“Don’t get the wrong idea, Dante.” Nero told him, slinging the jacket over his shoulder and walking past. “I don’t want you fooling yourself.”

“About what, kid?” Dante turned in his seat, but Nero was already gone.

 

* * *

 

 

Nero wanted to sleep already.

He curled up in his bed and tried to will sleep to him. He’d never gone to bed so early before. At around this time he’d be working the corner, another bar, Dante’s bed. Something.

God, Nero felt so uncomfortable in his skin. It was like being a bug trying to moult; squirming in an outgrown exoskeleton. Except, well, he wasn’t trying to shed his old hide. He wanted to keep it. Hide behind it. It took him such a long time to develop. So many years of trying to become the epitome of a cynical realist. Sugar coated with lust for nourishment during the winter. That was the plan at least, but it was failing him now for some reason.

It was ridiculous. this was all ridiculous and he hated Dante. Fuck, he hated that guy. Who knows why, but he was just _consumed_ with a boiling rage as he curled up in his blankets and pictured Dante's arrogant face and cursed his name. Damn Dante.

Damn him and everything he stood for.

Nero bit back the tears that spiked his eyes. He welcomed the anger, used it to push back the tears and the sour taste at the back of his throat. Damn him. He fell asleep a couple of hours later; not long enough to convince himself his anger was truly justified.


	3. Blue Scales

He could hardly remember the skin on his right arm being clear. Only just. He remembered the swath the artist wiped over his fair forearm. A blank canvas. Then the buzz of the needle.

“You sure kiddo?” The artist had asked. “This shit doesn’t wash off.”

He was sure.

Then came the hot scratching that followed each line. He watched as the ink sunk under his skin, never to be removed.

 

* * *

 

 

It was early in the morning when a young, freshly tattooed Nero left home. Wasn’t even bright outside yet. He woke up from his half-sleep to someone shaking his shoulder. The air was nippy and his arm ached, especially on his wrist. He merely grumbled at the intruder and the insistent murmur to _get up._ The hand left him and the intruder gave an exasperate sigh.

Good, Nero thought. Let me rot here, please.

He heard thudding footsteps lead away from him, but the door never opened to let in some light on the scene. Instead there was some rustling in the corner of the room. After a moment, Nero reluctantly peeled back the sheets and looked over at the fuzzy silhouette hunched over a pile of his stuff.

“Credo?” Nero rasped groggily when he half recognised his white jacket; somehow it glowed in the dark.

“Get up.” He repeated his order as he packed Nero’s backpack; his one trustworthy companion for the next five or so years, “You need to go.”

Nero sat up and flattened his feet against the floor but did little else. Wow, he was zoned out.

“We’re doing it…?” He asked slowly.

“We’re doing it,” Credo confirmed. “Now.”

It took half an hour to get Nero up — as sleep-deprived and confused as he was — and have him throw on a denim trench coat over his black T-shirt and slacks. Their parents were out that morning. Where exactly? Nero didn’t even know. Nor cared. It was convenient and that’s all that mattered to him.

His backpack was hefty with his belongings. He only thought to look into Kyrie’s room as he passed it in the hall. It was practically the last thing he held in his heart of home; the plastic coverings over the furniture, the sickly sweet perfume and stuffed valentine’s teddybears. ‘To Kyrie, love from Laurie’ said a heart-shaped card tied around one of their necks. He remembered Kyrie showing it to him secretly with an impish little smile on her face. Nero got the feeling if his parents knew what that card said, they’d burn every bear and lovey-dovey piece of paper in that room. One big, hearts and flowers bonfire on the lawn. Oh yeah. It would be a proper cleansing of the lesbian spirit. Luckily, they hadn’t really looked at Kyrie’s room, only came in to drape it in plastic then never stepped back inside again.

The room was depressing, and yet was the brightest one in the house. Her window’s drank in the first rays of morning light. As Nero stood to soak in the serene melancholy of it, Credo honked the car horn in the garage, telling him to hurry it up. They left the house behind, Nero craning his neck to catch one last glimpse, before commencing to forget which side of the lawn had the hedges and which had the sunflower pots.

As Credo drove Nero to the train station, he explained how he’d stollen some money from their parent's bank account. He’d slipped them into Nero’s wallet, which he had then slipped into his backpack, along with a passport and birth certificate. Between the disappointment of both Nero and Kyrie, they placed far too much faith in Credo that he woudn’t fuck them over as well. Nero had to admit, he could see why. He himself had always admired Credo, in a private, internal sort of why. His older brother was as loyal as they came; even if it translated into him being a tight-ass little soldier. However, between parents or siblings, he chose siblings. He loved Kyrie as much as Nero did. No matter what their parents said.

“You’re so going to hell for this,” Nero joked.

Credo didn’t seem to hear him, just stared out into the road as if they were on the highway for it now. He had this earnest look on his face, his eyes as hard as the metal of his platinum watch. Nero was tempted to tweak his nose, or his goaty, or just _something_ silly and lighthearted to balance out the serious tension in the car. Instead he punched Credo in the shoulder and told him it’ll be fine. That Nero’s got this. Even though he had no idea what was going to happen.

When Nero failed to get anything out of him, he finally caved and crossed his arms. He asked, “So, where to, Credo?”

Finally a response, “Capulet. Maybe…”

Nero stared at him. He didn’t like the sound of that maybe. “Maybe? You pulled me out of bed on that? Are you even Credo?”

Credo shook his head. “You’re just going to have to work something out.”

“Alone?”

“Yes. Alone.”

“Okay, I need more to go on than that. I need-…”

“I know.” Credo said firmly. A car over took them, and as the headlights passed, Nero finally noticed the glisten of tears in his eyes. The emotions that were locked up in that blistering head of his, even now, were stubbornly trying not to leak. “I know. Look…I just…I just don’t want anything to happen to you. After Kyrie…I couldn’t handle that happening again with you. You’d be safer on the god damn _streets_ then back there.”

Five years later, Nero still wasn’t sure if that’s true or not.

“I’m going to find a way into college.” Credo said with some certainty. “I’ll get a flat in Capulet, and soon enough you can drop by and it’ll be fine. By the time I’m there you’ll have both feet under you, and it’ll be fine. Trust me, you’ll be fine.”

“Calm down, alright? You’re freaking out. I’ve got this.” Nero sunk back into his seat with a sigh, before repeating himself, “I’ve got this.”

At the Train Station, Credo wouldn’t shut up, and it was getting on Nero’s nerves. One last minute advice after another, mothering everything he did or could do. “You’re going to be late for it, hurry it up!” He’d say and Nero would have to tell him that he wasn’t going to miss it, and if he did, there was another in half an hour anyway. That Credo could just _leave_ already, he didn’t have to wait on him.

Than, as they were waiting on the platform — A tense Credo and a fidgety Nero side-by-side — there came a growing roar down the tunnel, making the air thrum. The train emerged, shooting past them in a gust of air and screeching breaks.

For a moment, Nero was afraid it was going to keep on going, but it stopped. When it did, he half wished it hadn’t. The doors opened right in front of him. Credo kept talking to Nero, even as it arrived.

“…and be careful!” Credo shouted over the bustle of the crowd.

“I’ve got it already!” Nero shouted back just before the doors closed, snipping the final cord that connected them as family.

The train started moving, throwing Nero a little off balance. Nero tried to see him, catch one last look, but he lost Credo among the crowd back on the platform. Soon even the station was out of sight as the tunnel swallowed him and everything went black. The windows turned into mirrors, no longer letting him see out, only reflecting a frightened looking boy back at him. Nero had to sit down and collect himself, hugging his backpack to his chest, bouncing on a jittery knee.

“Bye, Credo,” He muttered.

Credo didn’t get to go to college, instead he used his college money to run away just the same as Nero a couple of years later. When Nero found him, he was only _just_ 'getting his feet under him' and flipping through rejection letters from different schools. But that is a completely different story all together.

The moment Nero arrived in Capulet with his new wad of money, he checked into a half-shabby hotel, then pinned down a tattoo parlour.

 

* * *

 

 

A week after arriving he had his first job at Subway. The owner liked him purely because his resume stated that he used to play guitar as a past time. In other words — he was only hired because of his interests, the rest of his resume was worthless. A brief stroke of luck for Nero.

It took the owner a month later to figure out his other interests, with which he _didn’t_ like. It was getting close to closing and Nero was just giving everything a wipe down. Just before he started packing things up, the very last customer came in. A tall, stocky man with large hands, veiny forearms, and grey stubble. Nero immediately hopped up to serve him, with an eagerness that was uncharacteristic of him. A senior employee watched as he got straight to it, shocked to see Nero was — honest to god — smiling. It was a shy little quirk of the lip, but still. He was the picture of a polite young man. He’d go to scratch the side of his nose before realising why, exactly, he was wearing gloves and forced himself to keep his hands away from his face. The older guy smiled right back, if a bit predatory. After he’d gotten his sandwich, he stayed behind a bit, just to flirt with Nero. The kid engaged, something he never did. He was getting his hands all over the counter he’d just wiped over.

In the end the man gave him a phone number which Nero kept for all of about two days. After two days he got another phone call at the hotel he was staying at, this time from work.

“What’s up? Did I have a shift today?” Nero asked into the receiver.

 _“No, no shift today, Nero.”_ The owner’s voice crackled. _“I was calling to inquire when you got your tattoo? Are you taking care of it? It’s still fresh?”_

“Um,” Nero looked down at the blue scales on his forearm, “It’s still kind of raw, yeah. But I’ve been keeping an eye on it. I’ve got a few more blue scales to go. I don’t really have the money to go in for a full ink job just yet-…”

_“Ah, okay. Okay. Here’s the thing: you’re working with food, Nero, and it’s a bit unhygienic to be making sandwiches while you’re getting tattoos.”_

Nero swallowed. “Well, I keep it wrapped up when I come to work for that reason. I’m not an idiot.”

_“I know, I appreciate that. But it might be best if you don’t come to work for a little while, just until you’ve got it sorted.”_

Nero suddenly felt a little panicked, “I can’t afford to do that. For god sake, I'm _living_ in this hotel. I’ve still yet to find an apartment I can rent out!”

_“Well, you’re just going to have to work that out.”_

“-- Because I might get ink all over the place when I clearly make sure I don’t?”

 _“Don’t get snarky."_ he said. _"It’s not just the tattoo, honestly I’ve been getting complaints from the other employees about you, kid. They’ve been telling me you’ve been less than polite to them, and rarely, if ever, engage with the customers.”_

“I can try and be nicer if it’ll make you happy,” Nero pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his calm.

 _“Well that’s just another thing,”_ He went on. _“You don’t try. You don’t seem to really want this job at all. When you get here, you don’t help out unless you’re told-…”_

“I do.”

_“You don’t. You ignore your seniors and sit around doing nothing most of the time…”_

It was about then that Nero thought he'd figured out what was going on. It was the way he kept jumping from excuse to excuse...

“Is this because I’m gay?”

_“What? For god sake Nero I didn’t even know, and it doesn’t matter to me at all. Look, I’m sorry, but your attitude is just unacceptable. You’re going to have to find work somewhere else.”_

Then he hung up.

This pattern repeated quite a few times. Each time they had an excuse. He was lazy, or he was rude, or the fresh tattoo was too unhygienic. Even when the ink had healed and sunk under his skin and he stopped getting new layers; it was still brought up. He was ultimately fired, or let off with the old "don't call us, we'll call you' shtick. _Maybe they could’ve put up with me,_ he figured, _if I wasn’t an asshole on top of it all._

Soon enough, he couldn’t afford the Hotel and he was left on the streets. It came as a bit of a shock one day when there came a knock and a pretty direct eviction. The blue scales were still not done.

 

* * *

 

 

The problem with straightforwardness is that it’s sudden, and sudden can take a while to catch up on. So what was homelessness like? Nero honestly didn’t even know himself. He didn’t feel particularly homeless.

The cold was brutal. He shared a mattress in an alley with another young runaway. She spent most nights smoking cigarette butts she found on the sidewalk and singing cheesy Doris Day songs. Even still — cold, filthy, and hugging his backpack to himself while he slept and while he was awake — he hadn’t felt homeless. He felt the same way he had when his mother had forgotten to pick him up from school that one time. Two times. Actually she forgot about him a lot…but it felt like that.

It was the same lost feeling; looking from the outside. He found everything was so much bigger and emptier than it usually felt when he was still in the system of things. When he was still accepted and loved. When he was a part of society, life felt tight; confining — true — but comfortingly tight. When he was young the system was that he finished school, he got picked up, did his homework, then went to sleep ‘loved’.

Now he was older. The system was that he finished work, got paid, did his bills, then went to sleep hating himself. Now he was out of the system, and it was nothing he wasn’t use to. So he didn’t feel any dramatic ‘withdrawal’ effects from falling asleep on an alleyway mattress instead of a hotel bed. The serenades from the homeless girl (who almost constantly smelt of mint and cigarettes) were annoying at times, but there were times when it was genuinely endearing. He never learned her name — the girl he ‘stayed’ with — only remembered that she wanted to get a tree of life tattoo on the nape of her neck someday.

Each night they fell asleep in as many layers as they could squeeze over their head. As his eyes closed and he buried his nose in the top label of his backpack, the girl kept singing. As she sung he saw Kyrie’s face in his head, her lips shaping around the lyrics that bled into his dreams; _“Will I be pretty? Will I be rich? here's what she said to me…”_ She sung in a voice far too rough for her, a voice eroded by smoke.

 _“…Que sera sera. Whatever will be, will be. The future’s not ours to see…”_ She smiled, her teeth far too white, and her eyes…he was shocked that he couldn’t remember their colour, _“…Que sera...sera…”_

Sometimes he didn’t dream of Kyrie singing. Instead he dreamed of his tattoo getting some horrible infection, one that eroded his arm to the bone. A boiling, festering limb of pus and ink. Then the ants would come…as well as a hand. It would grip his withered wrist, tight and painful, locked there like a pit bull’s bite. Right on the bone.

He’d wake up with his own hand around his wrist, squeezing hard, luckily with the wrap protecting it. He’d remember his dad then, swearing at him, slapping him across the face and hurting him with his hand on his tattoo, so fresh and raw. _No markings for the dead._

He soon forgot his ‘father’, just as he’d forgotten the others. It had no dramatic effects on him. He was use to it.

 

* * *

 

 

He adjusted the strap of his backpack over his shoulder and went into the internet cafe. It was pretty vacant, which was a relief. He still chose a secluded corner with a computer and hiked up his feet on another chair. He looked up people who were wanting flatmates, as that was all his pocket would allow. He came across a boy around his own age; a high school dropout named ‘Trojan’ who was looking for someone (preferably male) who could cook, and Trojan was willing to pay for the majority of the rent. The problem being that the only thing Nero knew how to dish up was ten minute noodles and a bowl of cereal. In other words, he didn’t know how to cook at all, or at least he never learned, but he figured he could pick it up. He needed to.

They arranged to meet at Mcdonalds with very little else to go on other than blind-date-esque descriptions of each other. Nero being “tall with bleached-white hair, blue eyes and the fresh outline of a demonic tattoo sleeve on my right arm.” and Trojan being, “I’m probs WAY TALLER with an awesome bod & a surfer’s haircut. My sis calls it that at least, though she likes to generalise everything about me…” and went on to talk about absolutely nothing for a good half an hour.

Nero walked in and sat in one of the far corners of Mcdonalds, seemingly gravitating to these corners like a cat gravitates to boxes. He craned his neck to see if this ‘Trojan’ guy was there already. He really wished he had been given a photo to go on, but all he got was a vague as hell description.

While he was distracted, someone slid in across from him with a full platter. Nero jumped when they spoke, “Nero, right?”

He turned to look at the guy at his table, lips already pursed around a straw and sucking the life out of it. Trojan was a very attractive guy — tall, fit and fair-haired — which was a bit distracting for Nero. The last thing he needed was an attractive roommate. An arrogant attractive roommate at that. His hair was a mess, as if he had just rolled out of bed, then kept rolling all the way to their rendezvous point.

“Yeah and you’re Trojan?” He asked almost hesitantly, not sure how to feel about this, but in all honestly; unsurprised by the way he looked, considering how he talked over chat.

“The one and only!” he leaned across the table, grin growing wider. “So you can cook, eh? What kind of meals do I have to look forward to?”

 _Shit._ “All sorts of stuff; just put a cookbook in front of me, flip to a random page and I’ll whip something up.”

"Nice, nice.” He wrapped his lips around the straw again, before his eyes landed on Nero’s arm. “Hey, that’s right, your tattoo! I remember you mentioning it. Can I see it?”

“It’s not finished.” He held it out for him anyway, happy to show it off.

“Yeah, well, it’s lookin’ good. The detail in that outline is _intense…”_

They talked for a long while and got on pretty well. As well as Nero gets on with anyone on the first meeting, at least. At one point Nero leaned back in his seat to stretch out his spine. While he did this, he caught Trojan staring at him as he leaned back and revealed his belly. When he stopped, he hunched over and pulled his shirt firmly down and hid his arm under the table, suddenly very self-conscious.

Nero decided to ask, “So is there anything we should get out of the way?”

“Not much, man, just some formalities.” He said. “Wanted to get to know you before bunking up. You seem pretty decent. But I should just say — real quick…”

He leaned in even closer — pretty much on top of the table — and pulled at his collar, as if his little secret was hidden under his shirt. “…I’m bi. So if you’re a homophobe, bunking up with me is going to be hell. I like my men as much as my women, you get me?”

He suddenly pulled the cheekiest looking grin Nero had ever seen on someone else’s face besides the one Kyrie made when she told Nero _her_ secret. So he laughed and told him there was nothing to worry about, and exactly _why_ there wasn’t.

Trojan’s eyes lit up at that, “Really? Full blown faggot, eh? _Nice~,”_ he slapped Nero’s good shoulder and said, “We could have a three way; two dudes one chick!”

Nero chuckled again, completely and utterly content to never do such a thing.

They moved in together, none the less, and Nero was lucky to be a natural at cooking. The heavily seasoned spaghetti he made the first night was praised by Trojan in a fake Italian accent and over the top hand gestures. He got Nero into playing soccer instead of just sitting around playing video games and doing indoor exercises, which was something Nero would’ve done if he’d had his way. In fact, Nero did most of everything Trojan proposed or asked of him (except for anything sexual), not because he genuinely wanted to, but out of courtesy for the fact he was paying for a big portion of the bills.

Nero never mentioned how he was homeless for a short period before moving in, seeing it as unnecessary and bad to his image. But the promise of going back to homelessness and staying in that condition for far longer than just a couple of days, was a very real fear in Nero’s mind. While not every job was run by homophobic bosses, there were genuine problems with his attitude towards others.

“Maybe you just need a job where you don’t have a boss or peers to mess with your space, you know? Some independent work?” Trojan said from his spot on the couch one day. “Oh yeah, sure, great idea. What do you suggest? What independent work can I possibly do with my oh-so-vast list of skills and education?”

Trojan was quiet.

“Exactly.” Nero scratched the back of his head, “Maybe I just need to sign up for anger management or something…”

“Not out of my wallet you don’t.”

Despite often saying things like that (‘get a job’ or ‘not out of my wallet’) one thing Trojan did pay for was Nero’s tattoo. He gave him just enough money to be able to finish the last of the blue scales.

And Trojan, as it turned out, was not kidding about the bisexual thing. Because one thing about Trojan, was that he was not shy, and another was that he was decadent as fuck. He was only interested in three things; men, women and both at the same time. Nero didn’t mind, if not for the minor setback of having to lie awake through the action that was always knocking through the paper thin walls. On some very frustrating nights, Nero took to masturbating to the noise -- typically, as quiet as possible -- and feeling bitter-sweet about the whole thing in the morning. And the fact that he was the one who'd have to clean the sheets; the sheets on both sides of the wall. It was moments when he was in the middle of chores like that he realised why, exactly, Trojan was willing to pay for the majority of the rent; he wanted a maid. One to mop up the semen and cook Italian dishes.

Above all things, Trojan took priority in himself. There were certain things that Trojan always wanted, and he always got what he wanted.

At some point that was indeterminable, one of those things became Nero. If you were to ask the kid himself, he'd say that was precisely the moment where it all started to go downhill. 


	4. Red Scales Part 1: Trojan Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nero expected things to change after that. And change they did, but not in the way he had hoped.

Nero recalled a foster father who use to roll up strange-smelling cigarettes while they both watched television. Not marijuana, Nero's button nose had caught a whiff of marijuana before, and that was something else. Regardless of what it was, his foster father would lay it all out on the T.V dinner table, one of the foldout ones. He’d lick along the edge of the paper with a puffy, discoloured tongue, before neatly rolling the sticks up and placing them in a row on the tabletop. It was one of the few moments that particular dad showed any sign of order and care. He remembered how gentle he was when placing them down, seeing as the table was on a slant, and if he didn’t set them careful and right, they just rolled away from his stained fingertips and onto the carpet.

As he went through the motions of this little ritualistic addiction, Nero would ask questions about what was happening in the movie, unable to figure it out himself. The psychology of people were one of the hardest things to grasp for him at that age. There was one night where they were watching Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. A scene stood out to him and latched onto his brain for permanent residence, where Hunter S. Thompson was pulled over for speeding. Not without going ahead for a few extra stretches first before turning off the road at a high speed. _Make the bastard chase you_ , the narrating voice of Johnny Depp muttered around his cigarette filter.

“Why’d he do that?” little Nero asked, touching the screen.

Father’s palm cracked down on his pale, outstretched arm. The sudden sting of it made him snatch his hand back from the T.V. He didn’t cry about it, he knew that was a rule not to touch the T.V. So he was only left with a burning sense of embarrassment for forgetting as he rubbed his screaming red forearm.

“Just to fuck with him, kiddo,” Father number-something answered simply as he sat back and lit up a neat little mystery stick, “just to fuck with him.”

 

* * *

 

 

Trojan liked to fuck with Nero. That much was painfully obvious.

Nero scaled four flights of stairs, both arms deadened from the pull of groceries. He fumbled to open the apartment door and walked in on Trojan having sex with someone on the couch. A typical fucking day.

“Jesus christ, Trojan!” Nero cried, looking away. Seeing as his arms were bound to his sides by gravity he was unable to shield his eyes with his hands. Trojan whipped his head around to look at Nero, not looking the least bit like an owl in the spotlight, but more like a dog caught in the middle of licking it’s balls.

“Hi, Nero!” He greeted, his face and back absolutely glazed with sweat. His hips halted in their thrusting and he looked back down at the girl spreadeagled on the couch, “Say hi to Nero, babe.”

The girl seemed reluctant to do anything but roll her head around the armrest. Eventually however her head stilled, her eyes cleared, and she lciked her lips to prepare for her attempt at a civil response, “uh…uhm…h-hi Ner—”

Trojan resumed his pounding inside her body and effectively cut off her progress with human speech.

“You can join in if you want; she said she wouldn’t mind earlier.” Trojan called over his shoulder.

Nero hugged the wall on his way towards the kitchen and said, “I’d rather do literally anything else.”

“Go lick the toilet then.”

“Go blow yourself.”

Trojan laughed shakily, his grin maddeningly wide, “I’ve already had her do that for me.”

Nero didn’t say anything more, instead just stewed in passive aggressive rage as he sorted the groceries, his back to the porno scene in the living room area.

the slapping of wet flesh and girly moaning soon reached a crescendo, before cutting off altogether from Trojan pulling out. Then it all became about him for a good 30 seconds. It was the most sexually tense 30 seconds Nero had ever had to stand, because all he could hear was Trojan’s breathy moans and the sound of his hand slicking furiously over his cock. He soon ejaculated all over the girl’s chest. At some time in the middle of all that, Nero had disappeared to his bedroom.

After a long while, the girl had gathered her things and the front door to the apartment had closed. Soon after, a knock came at Nero’s bedroom door.

“Fuck off.” Nero said, lying on his bed and looking up at the cieling.

“Dude, it’s Trojan; Sheila just left.”

“Oh, Trojan. Fuck off.”

A laugh. “Are you angry at me because you don’t like walking in on straight sex, or are you angry at me because I’m getting laid while you’re still a virgin?”

Nero threw a nearby boot at the door. Trojan’s irrepressible chuckle was all that came as a response.

Nero was quite content to stay in there all night, but at Trojan’s insistent crooning for food, he burst forth from his hovel. Trojan was lying on the recently fucked-on couch watching his show when Nero came out, and he battled Nero’s dead-panned expression with a grin. “I knew you couldn’t last long without seeing my glorious face.”

“Shut up and help me with dinner or else you can starve.”

Trojan groaned but got up.

All he did was set up the table; two plates and two forks and voila, Trojan’s part was done. The actual ‘food’ part was on Nero’s end. That night it was spaghetti. Again.

The two were polite enough to each other, but only in an out of order way; as Nero served up dinner for the night in front of Trojan, he’d said, “You’re welcome.”

Trojan slurped some pasta up before saying; “Thank you.”

While they sat and ate across from each other, Trojan casually brushed ankles with his roommate. It was such a little thing, but back then, just that slight bit of human warmth - that barest hint of contact - and Nero’s cheeks heated up so hot his face hurt. Nero was sanctioned ground in Trojan’s eyes, which made him seem like some sort of prize. The same way an atheist might want to find the holy grail and drink pepsi from it, just to prove that it’s nothing special, and in the discovery of it’s unremarkable nature, the discoverer _was_. Despite how much he despised Trojan saying it, Nero _was_ a virgin. And Nero hated that fact. So Trojan was fairly certain the Grail wasn’t going to be at the end of a daunting gauntlet or anything. Regardless, Nero pulled his feet underneath his seat and shot a glare at Trojan, warning him not to fluster him further. It was a half-hearted threat and his playboy roommate knew it. He knew Nero by this point; he knew he was hungry for love and attention, and Trojan's freelancing of both those pleasures was not helping at all. One last push should do it, really. Just one last shove in the _wrong_ direction. 

He was about to push himself across those lines, but then the phone in Trojan’s pocket began to buzz.

He answered it with a cheery, “Trojan speaking.”

There came a muted chatter from the other side of the phone; feminine and fretted.

His smile began to dissolve. “Where you at, babe?”

Nero stabbed a fork into his spaghetti after hearing the pet name.

Trojan nodded, before saying, “Huh…alright don’t move from there. I’ll sort this out.” With that he hung up.

Nero asked; “What was that about?”

Trojan paused, deadly silent, and stared across the table at him. Nero never asked about Trojan’s phone calls. That was a rule; not to ask. He’d forgotten. His cheeks began to burn with embarrassment for forgetting. 

But soon Trojan broke eye contact and chose to respond; “A booty call of mine has a boyfriend, and the prick’s decided to throw a fit about me and her getting together. I’m gonna have to set him straight before he hurts someone.” Trojan got up and started getting ready to leave.

“What…now?” Nero asked, though there was really nothing urgent happening in their own apartment. Apart from spaghetti, and for some reason that was important not to miss out on in Nero’s head, “I mean…is it really your business? It’s _her boyfriend_. You’re not the boyfriend here; you’re the fling.”

Trojan swiped the keys from the counter and grinned at Nero as he stepped backwards out of the door. “Sometimes you’ve got to step in and be a gent about these things, Nero. And I’m a proper gentleman.”

Then the door closed and Nero was left alone in the apartment.

“If you’re a gentleman then I’m the devil.” Nero muttered.

Knowing that Trojan was going to be a long while, he put away the leftovers. He quickly went into his bedroom, got the recently used skeet blanket and threw it into the washing machine. He returned to the kitchen and finished his own plate of spaghetti off in melancholy and solitude.

 

* * *

 

 

In the morning, Nero got up and did his usual routine of hanging out the washing. He walked past Trojan’s room and casually peaked inside to see if he was home.

He was.

A hand wrapped in gauze was hanging over the side of the bed. Trojan's hand. No doubt he’d gotten into a fight, probably broken the skin of his knuckles to the point of needing bandages. No doubt something else was broken or dislocated somewhere in his body. Nero didn’t enter, instead he made his way to the laundry to do his chores. A normal fucking morning.

When Trojan finally woke up in the early afternoon, he shuffled into the kitchen, tentatively sat down at the table and requested coffee and the first aid kit. Nero got him both, as well as helped him out with the first aid. Nero was use to this by now, hell, there had been a few times when Nero would come home after a fight where Trojan would have to check to see if nothing was broken. Trojan was always worse, however. Always broken here, cut there. That day Nero found he’d done something to his jaw, which made it ache like a mother-fucker when Trojan tried to open or close it.

Nero rubbed his fingers gently along his jawline to check what was wrong, finding it jagged under the ear, not to mention his bite was off. Trojan still managed to grin, which pulled at his split lip and he goaded Nero for his uncharacteristically caring nature, as always; “Oh, mother goose, I think I pulled a muscle in my balls too…do you reckon you could rub ‘em for me and see if my jewels are still good?”

At that line, Nero just smiled right back at him. Mainly because it was funny seeing Trojan trying to talk in his current condition (he couldn’t speak very well at all, and that was a long winded joke). But that smile was still suspicious. Then he’d slipped a thumb between Trojan’s lips, massaging across his wet tongue. Allright. Ow. That kind of hurt his face, but Trojan could dig it…

But suddenly Nero griped Trojan’s jaw and snapped into place, which wiped the smarmy look from his face quick smart. When Trojan cried out in pain, Nero laughed sadistically. Fair play; Trojan wasn’t about to complain.

“I thought I set that right last night,” Trojan muttered, slowly moving his jaw, testing it, before deciding he should stop assaulting his nerves.

“You didn’t do a very good job,” Nero said, before dabbing at a cut on Trojan’s eyebrow, “You need a doctor this time, Trojan. Seriously.”

“Nah, I’m good.” They’d had this conversation too many times to count. Trojan never wanted a doctor. He could be bleeding from his eyeballs and missing half his brain, and still insist he didn't need a doctor. Now, despite having just fixed a dislocated jaw, having a split lip, bruised body and blistered knuckles, he put on _another_ fucking grin, winked and said, “I’ve got my lovely male nurse to take care of me, after all.”

“That’s my job, apparently,” Nero sighed, before going on, “Speaking of jobs, when are you going back to yours?”

“my job is a chore; hobbies are my occupation.” Trojan claimed.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I know and I don’t care. Say, how about we watch a movie tonight?”

“A movie?”

“Yeah, sure! Boys night in. What do you say?”

“I say that’s what we do every night. But I’ll agree if it means I don’t have to cook.”

“Well…what do you want to eat instead?”

“Pizza.”

“I knew you were going to say that…”

So they watched a movie.

The plan was one movie, but it turned into a movie spree, seeing as they both lacked anything else to do. Pizza was ordered, delivered, and devoured. Night fell, and half an hour after it got dark, the last slice had been consumed by Trojan. The movie they’d gotten to watching by the time the pizza was gone, was stupid and funny and they’d both forgotten the title by the time it faded from screen and the film started.

Nero was quite happy with the set up being as it was, though Trojan’s proximity was a tad bit intrusive. That was fine though, that was cool, he could handle that. He could ignore his cologne, the fact he was in nothing but an expensive dress shirt that became a casual shirt the moment he spilt mustard on it, as well as a pair of boxer briefs. Nero was in more or less the same amount of clothing. It was a nice, friendly night in. The warmth of a human body being so near was just a bonus. Trojan was on a different wave length.

The entire mood changed when Trojan casually reached over and began rubbing the inside of Nero’s thigh. Nero’s reaction was almost instantaneous; he jolted in his skin and looked over at Trojan. His eyes were on the T.V, almost not paying Nero any thought, apart from the insistent kneading of his palm and fingers into the muscles of Nero’s thigh. His palm was still wrapped in gauze, spotted with dried blood (was that Trojan’s? Was that the guy he bashed? Nero didn’t know) but the rough, coarseness of it excited his skin. Nero didn’t shove him away — he was past that now — and merely sat back, feeling himself begin to harden at Trojan’s close touch. Trojan spared a sideways glance at Nero’s crotch, grinned at getting the desired response, and moved his hand over to rub Nero’s erection through his boxers. He kept his eyes on the T.V as if what he was doing was just an off-handed thing, not shocking in the slightest. Even when Nero began to squirm a little under his hand, he kept the nonchalant air. Nero’s lips parted as he tried to control his breath. Fuck, he was enjoying the heat of Trojan’s hand through the silk. but when that hand slipped back up his thigh, before gliding inside the leg of his underwear to grab him, skin on skin, he let out a soft groan.

Trojan reached over and grabbed Nero’s hand and brought it to his own crotch. He controlled Nero’s palm, rubbing it against himself, so he could get a good feel of Trojan’s own erection through the layers. Nero got the memo, so when Trojan let go, he immediately dove his hand inside his boxer briefs and began stroking him at the same pace he was stroking Nero. All of this was done wordlessly and casually. Neither really watching the movie anymore but still giving the guise that they were.

With Nero in the thick of pleasure, his toes curling on the carpet, he found his head falling onto Trojan’s shoulder, enraptured by it all. Maybe he expected Trojan to mock him; this stupid little boy from a religious background getting all close and cuddly. So he wasn’t surprised when he heard (and felt) the chuckle. What he didn’t expect was to find Trojan resting his cheek on top of Nero’s head. It was a very pleasant set up.

Nero’s hand ventured down to gently knead at his balls. “Your ‘jewels’ don’t feel damaged, by the way,” Nero whispered huskily before kissing his neck.

Trojan chuckled, but it melted into a deep hum as he lifted his head and bared his throat to Nero’s eager mouth and breath. He was sloppy and amateurish, but endearing in his innocent depravity. Nero wasn’t going to last long, so Trojan slowed down, pulling, long, hard strokes; edging Nero along towards his orgasm, while encouraging Nero’s hand to move faster on his own, to pull harder, to pay more attention to the head. Maybe unequal treatment, but the treatment Nero was receiving made him whimper and squirm. Hot _damn,_ the kid was way more sensitive then Trojan anticipated.

Soon enough Trojan’s wrist was starting to ache and so he kissed Nero on the forehead and whispered, “Harder.”

And so Nero gripped him harder.

“Faster.”

He stopped, adjusted his grip, before yanking at Trojan’s cock faster. Trojan breathed heavily into his white hair, before increasing the pace on Nero as well.

“u-uhhn…” Nero gritted his teeth, “ah...uhn..a-aahh..ahh, I’m gonna cum—…!”

And not too long after Nero muttered that, he started to buck in his spot on the couch, his head again coming down to rest on Trojan’s shoulder as he rode out his orgasm. The little performance kicked Trojan face-first into his own climax as well.

When it was done, and they were done, and the movie was done, and Trojan’s lungs were _so fucking done with his shit_ that he was thrown into a coughing fit, Nero sighed, and very quickly began to drift off to unconsciousness on Trojan’s sweaty, shaking shoulder, his hand still in Trojan’s boxers. Trojan wiped Nero’s spunk off on his silk boxers, but didn’t bother pulling Nero’s hand out of his own, instead gliding his fingers up and down his tattooed arm. Trojan slipped Nero’s t-shirt up a little, daringly eying up his skin as he bared his stomach. He enjoyed his free rein over Nero's body while he was still pleasantly post-orgasmic. Trojan eventually kissed him on the forehead and whispered, “oi; don’t go to sleep.”

Nero just mumbled at him drowsily, but his fingers uncurled from Trojan’s falling erection. After a moment being at peace on Trojan’s shoulder, he lifted his head and stole a kiss from his roommate-cum-lover. Trojan returned it, being careful not to open his sore jaw too far, though masochistically welcoming the sting. He enjoyed it in a strange way, because he imagined Nero feeling this ache in his jaw, this sting in his lips, this burn in his wrist and these blisters on his knuckles instead of himself. His mind was projecting it all onto Nero, and the thought of Nero being in any sort of pain went straight to his dick. The feeling almost made him tempted to go again.

Almost, but not enough. He was _beyond_ exhausted.

Nero snuggled up against him stroking the inside of Trojan’s thigh, “You think you could do me a favour, Trojan?”

“Oh? What favour?”

“No secrets, not with me. Can you do that?”

“Fuck man.” Trojan laughed, kissing his forehead once again; he liked doing that for some reason."When have I ever kept a secret from you?"

Nero smiled happily, honestly believing that Trojan never had.

 

* * *

 

 

Nero expected things to change after that. And change they did, but not in the way he had hoped.

A week later, Nero scaled four flights of stairs, both arms deadened from the pull of the groceries, fumbled to open the apartment door, and walked in on Trojan having sex with someone on the couch.

Another girl.

Another typical fucking day.

Trojan’s head flicked around at the door being opened, and he just fucking grinned at Nero as he called, “Welcome back, babe!” he turned back to the girl on the couch and said, “Say hi to Nero, bitch.”

The girl on the couch had her wrists tied behind her back and her ass in the air, her glazed eyes rolled over to where Nero stood frozen at the threshold. She blinked her long, fake lashes a few times, before smiling — big and pretty and sloppy — and saying, “Hey, Nero.”

Nero was quiet for a moment before whispering. “Hi, bitch.”

“Her name’s Teresa, but you can call her bitch too, if you want,” Trojan said, getting up from the couch and pulling her up along with him, “We were just killing time until you got home. We both wanted to do it on the bed, but I wanted to confirm whether or not you wanted to join first. And I didn’t want you thinking I was hiding anything from you. No secrets, right?”

“Yeah.” Nero muttered, still slowly trying to catch up with all this. “Right.”

Trojan grinned, tracing his fingers over Teresa’s/Bitch’s curvy hips and waist, “So…Do you want to join in? She doesn’t mind.”

Now that was stupid. That was very stupid. But just the way Trojan said it, so casually, as if all of this was to be expected, made Nero feel even more stupid. Of course Trojan wouldn’t stop fucking everyone in a ten-mile radius. Nero didn’t own him. What was stupider than that was that Nero didn’t want to be one-upped by some random Bitch named Teresa. No matter the cost.

So he found himself dropping the groceries and saying; “Sure.”

Trojan raised an eyebrow, “Sure?” he said.

Nero blinked, realising what he’d just signed up for, before slapping on a smile and confirming; “Yeah; sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few apologies:
> 
> Sorry for the late update.
> 
> Sorry for this being such a long story.
> 
> Sorry, but there is a new warning I decided I should put up.
> 
> And finally, sorry if this is crap.
> 
> Have a good day C=


	5. Red Scales Part 2: Learning Curves

  
It’s a strange feeling going against your sexual instinct. Nero found that out very quickly, as he laid on his stomach and situated his face between Teresa’s legs alongside Trojan.

His whole body screamed, _get up and run, this is not what Nero does, this is not what Nero was born to do_. But then he’d cast a sidelong glance at his roommate, soak in those new feelings that had been boiling inside him for the past month, growing at a frightening rate for the past week, and he convinced himself that he didn’t have a choice. He wanted to be with Trojan and this was a way to be with him.

Trojan grinned and said to Nero, “You want to go first?”

_No._ “…Alright.”

So Nero, confirmed homosexual, learned how to lick pussy before sucking cock.

Teresa gasped and squirmed gently as Nero went to work. His eyes were squeezed shut as he did it. Very soon Trojan decided to join in and keep him some company. Nero’s tongue flicked at the corner of Trojan’s mouth, before he used the opening to sneak in a deeper kiss, pulling him away from the girl’s genitals. The taste of vagina was a bit potent in the kiss but he pushed forward, diving for Trojan’s unique flavour that resided at the back of his tongue and behind his teeth.

Trojan humoured him, returning the kiss with equal passion, even tugging hard at the back of Nero’s head and deepening it. Nero almost purred at the attention.

“That’s so hot,” The girl breathed, rubbing herself. Trojan chuckled into Nero’s mouth at her comment.

Soon he got bored of just kissing Nero. He pulled away from him, grinned devilishly at the woman on his bed, and dived back in to lick at her. Nero doggedly followed his example.

Soon the scene in the bedroom had escalated until Trojan was balls deep inside of Teresa, and Nero had escaped back to the safety of the bathroom. He swished water and toothpaste around his mouth and spat it out. Even still, that taste was still there at the back of his throat. He was tempted to grab the soap and wash his mouth out with that.

The soap…now that reminded him of home.

He’d once said ‘god damn’ in front of his mother. Such a stupid thing to do. She just about dragged him into the bathroom with Nero kicking and yelling insincere apologies. He tried to remember how old he was then, but he couldn’t.

She locked the door, held his head in a vice grip that was surprisingly strong, and just about choked him on the bar of wet soap. He coughed and gagged and blew suds out of his nose.

“You wash that filthy tongue of yours!” She yelled. “You do not use the lords name in vain! Not in this household!”

“Um thowweh!” He sobbed, before she retracted the block and threw it in the basin.

She left him in the bathroom to finish washing his mouth out with water. For the rest of the day, his face smelt extra clean.

Nowadays, he swears whenever he can.

He couldn’t believe how much that family affected him, though. Not just with the soap, in fact that barely affected him at all. It was actually their other values, the ones he found himself agreeing with.

Monogamous love was one of them. When Nero fell in love, he fell hard, with the keenness of a guided missile. Everyone else blurred out of view.

He didn’t understand how someone could love more than one person at a time. It sounded exhausting and false. Was that wrong? Were even those views as archaic as anything else his recent parents preached? To say Polyamory was basically consensual cheating…was that the same as saying a man’s attraction to another man is purely lust? That you deserve to choke on soap if you lie or swear?

It was an uncomfortable thought, bitter and hard to swallow like something that sat in his throat sideways. He turned off the tap and waited in the living room for Trojan to finish up.

He decided it didn’t matter what he should believe in, he’d do whatever he felt like doing. That’s what he told himself. He’d follow his heart and all that shit. Even if that, in itself, was a contradicting path to take.

 

* * *

 

It was Easter and Nero decided this was the time he’d try and go down on Trojan. Properly.

He’d tried it a few times, but each time was only slightly better than the last. On Easter time he made up his mind to hand over control to Trojan, and see how that went.

Trojan sat on the edge of his bed naked, with Nero between his legs, sitting on his hindquarters. He’d fallen into a good, easy pace, sucking hard and dancing a tongue around the head.

“Good,” Trojan whispered, “Try sucking a bit harder. Maybe go a bit deeper too…”

Nero moaned around him before trying to sink down Trojan’s cock past his gag reflex. He coughed, pulled back, then went down again, and his throat opened up for him. Now this he saw himself doing any day of the week. Everyday if he could. If Trojan would only ask.

Trojan groaned, low and deep as he went. Nero wasn’t an expert yet, but what he lacked in experiences he made up for in enthusiasm. He was sloppy, but enjoyed what he was doing, which was worshiping Trojan’s dick. He looked good doing it too, from Trojan’s point of view.

“That’s it…” He carded his fingers through Nero’s hair, petting him, “…Stay down, take me balls deep if you can.”

Nero managed to go down his length, burying his nose in pubes for about three seconds, before he had to rear back up and off his cock for air.

“Sorry,” He panted with bedroom eyes, his chin wet with spit, lips fat and red…

Trojan wished he had a camera.

“It’s alright, go on, keep going. We’ve got all night.” He brought Nero’s fair head back down before he could retort.

After a few hardy sucks, paired with Nero playing with his balls, Trojan sighed, “Fuck, you’ve gotten good.”

Nero chuckled around him, before taking him deep in his throat again.

The white-haired amateur loved these days, the days when it was just him and his boy and no one else. He was getting better at his cock-sucking, which was a plus, it meant Trojan would be paying more attention to him.

Nero thought at the back of his mind - however - that Trojan was just using him. That he wasn’t really seeing Nero, he was seeing some girl on their knees giving him fellatio. Nero was just the next best thing.

That was what he thought, until he heard, “look up at me.”

He did, and he saw that Trojan’s eyes were open, staring down at Nero with an intensity that shocked him. There was something wild and untamed there, some sort of internal beast that a person should be discouraged from feeding. And Nero was slipping meat through the bars.

He chuckled, “Give me the full puppy dog look.”

Trojan’s blunt nails combed Nero’s fringe back out of his face, before those gliding fingers suddenly curled tight, pulling at the strands at the back of his skull, sharp and hot. It hurt, fuck it really hurt. With a sudden, unhinged ferocity, Trojan’s hips rose from the bed and started bucking up into Nero’s mouth, hitting the back of his throat.

“Mmmm…fuck, you look good down there.” He gritted out through his teeth.

On one thrust he pulled out too far and missed Nero’s mouth. Instead his dick slicked across Nero’s cheek. Trojan gripped his cock by the base and started rubbing it all over his roommate’s flushed face. And Nero — the guy who was so short-tempered he couldn’t hold a job at Subway — knelt there and took the humiliating treatment. Trojan chuckled at that; at Nero’s obedient behaviour. No cheeky backtalk falling from his slobbery mouth. No, not at Trojan. Never at Trojan.

“Now you’re gonna take it at my speed; no bitchy resistance, you get me?”

“Uh-huh.” Nero muttered before his mouth was full of cock again.

Trojan went too deep too quickly this time and it sent a shock through Nero’s body. He wanted to pull away, but was surprised when his gag reflex didn’t flare up. Nero’s face was held flush against his crotch. Trojan kept him there, throwing his head back and groaning at the feeling of his throat constricting around him, before blatantly fucking the boys throat open.

“There we go, nice and deep...! That's a good little cocksucker.”

Nero held onto Trojan’s bucking hips, desperately trying to gain some control again, tightening his fingers on him to the point that would no doubt leave some bruises. Trojan didn’t adhere to that, too enthralled by the picture of Nero on his knees, being overwhelmed by his dick.

He approached his orgasm quicker than expected and pulled out. Nero cough and spluttered and blinked up at Trojan. He quickly shut his eyes just in time before he got a face full of cum.

Trojan let out a loud sigh as he unwound, before getting up and saying, “Stay there for a second.”

Nero obeyed as Trojan shuffled around the room.

He heard the mattress squeak from Trojan’s weight dropping back onto it, and a moment later he heard a snapshot. He nearly went to open his eyes but didn’t want to get semen in them.

Trojan cackled before taking another photo.

“Can I wash this shit off now?” Nero growled, face flushed with embarrassment.

“Yeah go ahead.”

A pause.

Another snapshot.

Nero sighed. “Tissue first; I can’t see.”

Trojan gave him a couple, “You’re welcome.”

Nero wiped his eyelids clean before getting up, kneecaps popping audibly. “Thanks.”

“Say ‘thank you, master’.”

“Fuck you, Trojan.”

He closed the bathroom door on the sound of Trojan laughing. As he washed his hands, he could hear Trojan's phone ringing again.

"Yeah." Came the muffled reply.

A pause.

"What do you want me to do about it? I'm small fry in this business. You want collateral damage taken care of you should talk t-..."

Another pause. Nero turned off the tap and listened in.

"Look, I'll meet you at the usual spot, alright? I'll head out now. It's just my roommate's in the building right now and the walls are thin. Okay? Bye." Trojan sighed before putting his phone down, "Stupid fucker."

Nero waited a moment before exiting the bathroom.

Trojan looked up and gave a grin, before pulling on some jeans, "Just got a call from work, they need help with something, I'll be back like the tide before you know it."

"Right," Nero nodded, before daring to ask, "What do you do for work again?"

Trojan didn't look him in the eye, just kept assorting his keys and wallet, "I just help move scaffolding around. That kind of thing."

"They need help with scaffolding at..." Nero looked up at the time, "...one in the morning?"

"I know right? It's fucked. Anyway~..." Trojan hopped over and gave Nero a kiss. Not a quick one. One that was good enough to make Nero forget where he was going with his questions.

Trojan pulled away and winked, "I've gotta go. See you later this morning, babe."

He was nearly out the door, before Nero shouted, "Well, Happy Easter then!"

"Easter's over!" He shouted back.

"Whatever!"

The door closed.

Nero flopped down on Trojan's bed, sighing at the sudden empty feeling of the flat. He buried his nose in Trojan's pillow and inhaled deeply. A moment later he heard a phone ringing. He looked over at the nightstand to see a phone vibrating madly.

Oh fuck, Nero just realised Trojan had left his phone.

He chose to pick it up and say something stupid. "Mac and Cheese Pizza delivery. You order pizza, we give you mac and cheese!"

"Haha smart ass." Came a gravelly voice on the other end. "Are you on the way now or what? Don't just interrupt me, make a meeting, then hang up, Trojan, that's not how this works."

"Well actually," Nero drawled, "If you'd just list your details we'll be happy to take your order and convert it into a macaroni dish. We should be there in the next few hours. Depending on where the hell you are."

"Listen you little fucker." He growled. "You're in deep with the big guy, got that? If you don't start wising up and paying up, and quit acting like a fucking moron, heads are gonna start popping. Believe me when I say I do not want to die with you! Now if you're done being a dick, tell me now, are you on the way to find out where the john who beat up our whore went to or not?"

Nero was stunned into silence.

"TROJAN!?"

"We can't take your call right now. Beep boop." He hung up.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a long time, hasn't it Mr.Bond?
> 
> I'll try and finish this freakin' thing by the end of the year. I promise. Here let us join pinkies...there we go. 
> 
> "I swear."
> 
> Cheers.


	6. Red Scales Part 3: Nightfall Over Troy

  
Trojan came home an hour before sunrise and sneaked in as quietly as he could. He didn’t turn on any of the lights and entered the bathroom blind.

Nero was pretending to be asleep on Trojan’s bed, having not been able to get a wink since he left.

He heard Trojan, the sonar-less bat, fumbling about in the bathroom, cussing quietly.

He soon got into bed behind Nero and slipped an arm around his waist. Nero felt his chin on the nape of his neck, and recognised the coarse, padded fabric of a band-aid. He use to think those cuts Trojan got were like the same ones Nero got. The cuts you’d get from starting fights at a bar, or loitering around dingy areas for too long. Now it had started to sink in that they were from scenarios much further down the rabbit hole of trouble than Nero had personally ever gone.

So he never brought it up, and nothing really came of it.

The pattern continued; another girl was in the apartment a week later as Trojan decided it was time for another threesome.

This time it went further. Nero found himself lying on his back, naked, sweating and aroused with a gorgeous young woman riding him for all she had. Kneeling behind her, buried balls deep in her ass, was Trojan.

Usually Nero would leave before these sorts of things happened, and he had no idea how he got there, but there he was. He decided it wasn’t too bad if he closed his eyes and focused really hard. After all…he could feel Trojan’s cock sliding against his, only separated by a wall of flesh.

She smacked down into his lap with repeatedly great force, crying out to the high heavens as she fell.

“Oh hun…!” She purred, “Oh, boys! Ooh, you feel good! Yeah, just like that…uuhn!”

Trojan brushed her hair away from her neck and bit down on her shoulder, laughing against her skin.

Soon Nero was far over it. He saw her rubbing her clit and decided to help her along. He pressed his thumb against the little erect button hidden in her folds, and stroked it in a lightning fast up-and-down motion. She immediately tensed up and stopped her rodeo, her lips open in a wide O. Trojan immediately took the reins and started to fuck her quick and hard from behind. Nero lifted his hips up from the bed and joined in as well.

Her screams had gone silent, snagged on a pleasurable ellipse in sanity, but as they drove harder, she managed to squeak out an, “…Oh _God…!”_

Nero heard _‘wash your mouth!’_ in his head, and he nearly laughed. He felt his erection going down, and got a little stoke of panic when he felt her nearly slam down and snap his dick off. Quickly, he thought of Trojan on a lazy week, where he hadn’t shaven his stubble away. He remembered the course scrapping sound his nails would make on the hairs, dragging his fingers across the jaw line as they kissed and clawed at each other, feverish and warm and something akin to heartfelt lovers.

Nero had already forgotten the colour of her eyes and the size of her breasts by the time he came into the condom, feverishly stroking her as he amateurishly ploughed her towards a climax. He nearly — very nearly — said Trojan’s name, but bit his lip in favour of courtesy.

She clawed at Nero’s pecks — which were a smarting red from her previous grope. She crooned about how cute she found him, how sexy his expression was, loving the noises he made. She finally came, long after Nero had gone soft and slipped out of her.

She left at 1:30 am with her eyes downcast. Her personality had done a full one-eighty, from a wild, sex-craved woman down to something quite modest. Trojan saw her out the door in his birthday suit.

In the stairwell, out of earshot of Nero, she confronted Trojan with a deceptively meek voice, “So…about the job I was telling you about…”

“I’ll put in a good word for you.” Trojan assured, absentmindedly scratching an armpit, “Talk to Jester about payment.”

She nodded, before whispering, “You know, Jester told me to tell you that…well…we need more boys.”

“He’s got plenty of gunsels as is.”

“No-no,” She giggled softly, “More boys in _that_ side of business…you know what I mean? A large number of our clients are turning out to be interested in…you know…men…”

She glanced over his shoulder before adding, “Your boyfriend is very attractive.” and left him with that, descending the many flights down in clopping heels.

Trojan stayed there, one hand on the wall, while he contemplated what she just implied. His boyfriend, aye? It was a niggling idea that stayed with him as he walked back into the bedroom that now smelt like a downtown fish and chips restaurant.

Nero laid on the sprawled sheets, tracing the lines of his tattoos with a pensive expression. To him, she’d left swiftly and elegantly, with the poise of someone who was use to being thrown out after sex and wasn’t sentimental about it. She was someone who was confident in herself, in love with herself and knew how to move on. Nero could only envy her as he stayed where he was, feeling gross.

Trojan collapsed beside him on the bed with a huff, “What’s wrong?”

More silence, Trojan watched his finger trace along the scales, staying on the black outline.

Eventually the kid spoke up, “This isn’t how I saw myself losing my v-card. I figured gays having straight sex was for those in the closet.”

Trojan shrugged, impressively ducking his head under the point Nero had made, “First times are never as romantic as people make it out to be. Besides, the whole virginity business is bullshit if you ask me. You’re not a coffee virgin if you’ve never had coffee before, right? You’re not a dancing virgin if you’ve never danced before, right? See, it’s only sex that they invented some weird value on never doing it.”

“Maybe.” Nero mumbled.

“It wasn’t that bad was it?” The blonde rolled over onto his side and pinched Nero’s cheek, “Why, did you want your first time to be with just me?”

Nero blushed. “Pretty much.”

“Well, I’m not a bottom. Sorry about that.” But then a suddenly exciting thought has Trojan grinning again, “But you’re still an anal virgin, though!”

Nero looked slightly worried, “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“The first few times, sure, but you saw how much she loved it.”

“Yeah I did…jesus christ…”

“Trust me babe, It’ll be good. I’ll make it good, you’re not my first green sprout.”

Nero blushed deeply before mumbling, “Okay. Not right now though, I’m exhausted…”

“I didn’t mean right away. How about tomorrow? After I’m home from work…” Trojan brushed at Nero’s fringe, “…I’ll bring something over to play with.”

Nero giggled, before burying his face in the pillow to hide his embarrassment.

“Are you sure ‘bout this?” He asked, muffled and adding bass to his voice.

“Definitely. I’d love to do this with you.” Trojan enforced, tracing Nero’s back muscles with his fingers.

Nero sighed through his nose. He moved his head to side-eye his boyfriend.

“No one else there.” Nero demanded.

“No one else…?”

“The last thing I need is to humiliate myself in front of another stranger tomorrow.”

Trojan laughed. “Right, no one else there. Just you and me.”

They kissed, then had a shower.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, Trojan climbed four flights of stairs with a single black gift bag. He unlocked the door to his apartment to see a lone Nero bolt upright on the couch. The bleached boy gave a smile to see Trojan there, having up until that point been completely alone to his own thoughts. What’s more, he was glad to see no one else trailing behind him.

The blonde held up the gift bag, “I bought you a present.”

“Will it compliment my eyes?” Nero said, fluttering his lashes.

“See, I was considering buying you something to wear…” Trojan pulled out a black, tear-shaped bulb from the bag, “…but then I figured this might look better in you.”

“In me?” Nero questioned, before Trojan tossed him the toy.

“oh…” he laughed, looking it over, “…oh, is this a….?”

Trojan dropped the gift bag on the coffee table.

Trojan straddled Nero on the couch, warming the tops of his thighs through his jeans as he leant in closer, bearing down over him like something primal.

Their lips met in a hard press, which forced Nero’s head back down against the armrest. Only then did Trojan began to move his lips more sensually, tasting Nero, moaning into his mouth. The kiss was wet and deep, as the boy on top dove a tongue inside. His hips rolled down, seeking some friction, and smirking when he felt an erection rub against his own. Nero had been frustratingly horny for the past couple hours, just waiting for Trojan to come home. He’d had at two showers in the span of three hours out of paranoia that he wasn’t entirely clean.

Trojan moved away an inch to talk dirty, “Figured my whore needed some practice first, before he took my monster cock.”

Nero laughed in his face, “Pretty sure I’m bigger, cowboy.”

“Wanna compare?” Before he got a response he had already started unzipping.

Nero helped, opening up and pushing down their jeans and briefs just before Trojan took both of their cocks in his hand. He kissed Nero sloppily for a few more seconds before bending down to purposefully drool a bit on their dry members and slick saliva all over.

Nero panted as the underside of their dicks were pressed together, rubbing a sensitive vein.

Trojan dipped down close, and murmured into his ear, “See? Mine’s way bigger.”

Nero couldn’t tear his eyes away from where Trojan was working them.

“half an inch is not ‘way bigger’,” Nero managed to say after gulping down a moan.

“Wasn’t talking about length,” Trojan smirked coyly, “Trust me, you’re going to feel this girth when it’s spreading your ass open.”

On that note, they made quick work with the rest of their clothes, tossing them aside while being magnetically connected at the mouth.

Trojan slipped a greased finger down Nero’s taint before reaching his hole, playing with the opening. Nero tensed at his touch, making the already tight hole clench even smaller. Trojan felt a rush of excitement at feeling it.

Trojan whispered down, “You look good like that.”

Nero blushed, but put on a grin. “I always look good, but shouldn’t I flip over?”

Trojan laughed and did it for him; flipping Nero onto his stomach.

Nero exhaled, “…are we doing this?”

Trojan laughed again before laying down on him, their naked bodies slotting perfectly against each other, as he rutted his cock between Nero’s cheeks.

Nero did his best to control his breathing as he felt Trojan’s lips touch the nape of his neck.

“Not quite yet.” Trojan whispered, “If I shoved it in right now your ass will tear.”

“Okay, don’t do that then.” Nero laughed nervously, tensing up as Trojan rutted the head of his dick against his hole.

Trojan began to trail wet kisses down Nero’s back, going down the dip of his spine.

“Loosen up.” He muttered, “I can tell that you’re tensing already.”

Nero breathed out and tried to stop flexing everything.

Trojan had Nero suck on one of his fingers, taking it into his mouth and curling a tongue around it. Once it was lubed up again enough to Trojan’s taste, he brought it back to Nero’s hole. After a few, slow rubs of the outer sphincter into enticing them to loosen, he slowly sunk his ring finger inside.

“Now that’s what I call tight…” Trojan whispered, “…relax a bit.”

“I am,” Nero breathed, doing his damn best to slacken every muscle in his body.

Those old days were fascinating to revisit. One little finger was too much for fresh bean Nero. But so many encounters later he’d bloomed like some hellish flower, ready to take on far more daunting tasks. It was slightly uncomfortable, that tiny milestone, but beyond that it was unremarkable. He wondered why anyone bothered bottoming at all. It barely registered when Trojan slipped the finger out.

Trojan’s hand came to rest on the small of his back, and he took that as a sign for there to be more, so he patiently waited for the touch of a plug. What he wasn’t expecting was Trojan’s tongue.

He jolted and looked over his shoulder, over the hills and valleys of his back down to see his boyfriend’s face buried between his cheeks. The image sent his brain alight with embarrassment. Oh god have mercy on him, to be having someone lapping at his most private area! More shocking than that, was that it felt really…really fucking nice.

“u-uhnn…” Nero groaned into the armrest, “uhn…your tongue feels so good…!”

Trojan suppressed a smirk as he grabbed the smallest plug from the bag; the first to be used. Nero hissed as he felt that tongue work inside him past the pursed ring of his anus, and wriggle around, sending these newly discovered pleasure points haywire. His head rolled on the rest, before pressing his warm cheek against a cool spot. Since Nero’s mouth was hanging open from moaning in such a suggestive way, Trojan put the plug against his bottom lip and told him:

“Suck on that,” as a string of spit still connected his lurid tongue to Nero’s virgin arse.

Nero shyly did as he was told, drooling on it, licking it, trying to make it glisten like varnished leather, before wrapping his lips around it. It was barely any larger than his thumb, so fit quite pettily in his mouth.

While he was preoccupied, Trojan went back to tongue-fucking him. It was pretty good, but it was soon becoming an underperformance in Nero’s growingly perverse mind. Nero had never felt so turned on in his life. He needed more. Needed it like a plant needed the sun to breathe and grow.

He pushed Trojan’s head away and brought the lubed up plug to his hole. He rubbed it around, before applying some pressure. He was surprised at just how much resistance he got in response. Trojan just sat back and watched.

“Try pushing against it.” Was his two cents of advice.

Nero closed his eyes and brought up memories of all the time’s he’d sucked Trojan off, about every vein in his cock, about the way it curved upwards. How he’d learnt that lying in the 69 position really helped him deep throat that curved cock, how he loved the taste and warmth of it. He thought of it’s length, it’s girth, and imagined taking it. Yes, he’d take it alright. He wanted to have the bell shaped head ease inside of him, for it to plough it’s way through and mould his insides to the shape of his cock. His hole twitched at the fantasy, opening up just enough. The bulb slipped past the first few rings. He hissed and squeezed his eyes shut at the slight burn he felt down there. He kept pushing, until finally…

It popped inside, all of it, and the base was pressed flush against his taint. Nero let out a whimpering sigh. The tip of the plug was touching something good — but only just. He pressed it in deeper, rolled it around, rubbing it against the spot it felt the best, and started to vocalise his approval into the couch.

And Trojan merely watched, watching Nero’s impressive progress. It sealed the deal in his mind; he couldn’t pass up such a gold mine. To have a boy so immediately receptive to anal sex was rare and valuable. He grinned like the devil.

“Like it already?” he cooed.

“It’s not bad…” Nero purred, “…got something a little bigger? This doesn’t quite hit the spot.”

Trojan just grinned wider.

 

* * *

 

 

Nero was trained to take increasingly larger sizes, from cute little plugs to some very bulbous bad boys, the biggest being about the size of a lightbulb.

On the same week, Nero completely and utterly lost his virginity to Trojan on the floor in front of their couch, as the Chinese food went cold on the coffee table. They agreed to not make a big deal out of it, it was one time in a long line of times that they were going to have sex, so they didn’t pretend the first time was going to be anything special.

And Nero had a fucking blast. This was the kind of life he’d been looking forward to after leaving his family behind. Maybe that was a horrible thing to think, but it was the truth. He was finally learning things he’d always wanted to learn. For one thing, he learnt of the high of being forced to orgasm purely through his arse, without touching his cock, something he insisted they do every single time.

Trojan, proud of how long he lasted with women, would come hard and embarrassing fast inside Nero. He blamed it on how tight he was, but he always encouraged the way Nero would tense and massage his cock with his inner walls.

The best part? No threesomes. No randoms coming to intrude on Nero’s turf. He had Trojan all to himself. That was - at least - for the first few weeks.

Things change with Trojan, he should’ve learned that already; things change because Trojan always stayed the same. Maybe things never changed…not really…Nero just badly wished that they would. Because Trojan brought someone else home. This time, however, it was a man.

Nero was called into the living room, and upon entering he carefully eyed Trojan’s new friend.

He was a big boy, tall and bulky like a bi-pedal war machine. His hair was a little long at the fringe but slicked back behind his ears, keeping the strands neat and tight against his skull.

Trojan slapped his shoulder before gesturing between him and Nero, “Nero, I’d like you to meet my friend, Bert. Bert, this is Nero.”

Bert held out a hand, “G’day there, Nero.”

Nero just looked at his hand, before giving him a sour face.

Bert dropped his hand before smirking, “Not very polite are you.”

Trojan clicks his teeth, “It’s part of his charm.” Then he came over and gave Nero a kiss. A deep one, full of tongue and passion.

Nero was a little taken back, but responded, loving the attention.

“So how does this work?” Bert speaks up, shucking off his thick leather jacket and dropping it at the door. “Do I just join in? Or do I have to wait?”

Trojan’s fingers were suddenly in Nero’s hair, yanking him back. He looked his boy in the eye and whispered, “Why don’t you go and kneel in front of Bert?”

Nero laughed quietly, a bit flushed, “I’m sorry?”

Trojan didn’t look away from Nero’s face as he said, “Just unzip your pants, Bert, the moment he sees your cock he’ll be drawn like a moth to a flame.”

Nero didn’t dare look, even as he heard the sound of a buckle being unfastened. Trojan brushed a thumb across his bottom lip, before pulling him in for another kiss. Nero didn’t respond this time.

Suddenly Nero’s head was forced to turn and look over at their new company. Bert was fully erect, and had a prince Albert piercing, glinting like a snake’s eye at Nero.

“Go on,” Trojan whispered into his ear, “Don’t be too shy to have a little fun.”

So Nero swallowed down his fear, went over and knelt.

 

* * *

 

 

“So I can pay you next time…right?” Prince Albert asked at the door as he was leaving.

Trojan shrugged, both of them ignoring Nero, who was still kneeling on the floor, trying to rub out a spot of semen on his jeans. He stilled at the mention of pay.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.” Trojan slapped his shoulder, “But don’t try to swindle me.”

And he was gone. Nero stood up and squared off in front of Trojan.

“What was that about?” Nero asked.

Trojan didn’t look the least bit worried. “I dunno. Me and him were just talking about sex and agreed that a hole is a hole, and as long as it gets your rocks off it doesn’t matter who you get it from.” Trojan flashed him a grin, “I figured you’d be into it.”

“Are you…” Nero lost his voice, so he swallowed, to clear his used throat, before he spoke again, “…are you selling me?”

Trojan cupped Nero’s face in his hands, “Babe, I love you, you know that, but you’ve failed to get a job. So I’m helping you out, just trying to look for something for you to do! And hey, it’s something you would’ve done for free…why not get paid for something that you enjoy doing?”

“But…” Nero shook his head, prying Trojan’s hands away, before simply taking a slow breath and asking, “How much did you charge him?”

“Relax, I know you’re not amazing yet. I didn’t charge him much.”

Nero never found out how much, exactly, had been paid for his mouth. Whatever it earned him, Nero never saw a dime of it.

And Bert came back. A few times.

It was one of the most sexually active months of Nero’s life. It was his golden age. The majority of them were male. Trojan just seemed to magically know where all the faggots of Capulet were hiding. One of which they were meeting at Macdonalds, for what could’ve been the most uncomfortable lunch at a fast-food joint Nero had ever experienced.

The client was another beefy fellow, wearing a hawaiian shirt and beige cargos. Each of his fingers and thumbs were laden with diamond studded bands. He looked too ritzy to be buying here, but he shouted for all three of them. The entire time he was sparing these very weird sideways glances at Nero. When they sat down to eat…he would just stare. Nero tried not to pay it much mind, though he felt incredibly self-conscious. Especially when he went to wipe the big mac sauce away from the corner of his mouth.

They didn’t take it back to Trojan’s place, instead, they went to a motel. Nero was quick to his knees as Trojan stood in the corner, watching over the scene.

The man wasn’t gentle. He grabbed Nero by the scruff of the neck, just like how one of his foster fathers use to do. It didn’t put him off though, he was willing and able to suck his dick off, as heartily as ever.

“So…I got heads,” The man drawled after he was done, and stroking himself to another erection, “what’s the price tag on tails?”

His boyfriend just shrugged. “You shouted lunch; that’s good enough for me.”

The big guy laughed, “I like that price.”

He looked down at Nero, who’d taken a load of cum on his face and down his neck. He let out a low appreciative murmur, “fuck that’s beautiful,” before looking back up at Trojan.

“Think you could keep his mouth busy while I take a shower? It would be a nice thing to come back to.”

“sure. You want a spit roast? That’s fine too.” Trojan said nonchalantly as he unzipped his fly and fished out his cock to take over his spot in front of Nero.

Nero’s lips were tingling, his tongue was fat. His throat; numb. He just opened his mouth and let Trojan slip right in. He heard the shower get turned on, but he was mostly out of it as Trojan spoke to him.

“I’mma teach you right,” Trojan muttered before licking the corner of his mouth, his eyes somewhere far away as he thought about the road this brilliant plan would lead them, “I’mma teach you right, and we’re gonna get loaded from that faggot ass of yours.”

He laughed, before deciding to share the joke, “one big mac at a time if we have to.”

The shower was fast, and the sex wasn’t. Trojan knelt on the bed, between the pillows, with Nero on his belly, taking two cocks at once, for the first time. (But the first time isn’t meant to be important, he reminded himself.) The John took longer after having already come once, but when he did, he was far more vocal.

He peeled off the condom and dropped it on Nero’s back.

“You need to break this ass in,” He chuckled, slapping a well-formed cheek. “That was almost too tight.”

Trojan chuckled along with him, before rubbing his cock all over Nero’s cum-greased face, “We’re a work in progress.”

Nero glared at him through his fringe, and Trojan just looked down at him and asked, “Aren’t we?”

Before he could come up with something smart, his mouth was occupied with Trojan’s cock again.

 

* * *

 

 

The memories blurred together in Nero’s head. He could hardly remember them all…remember all the names, the scenarios. But he remembered that each one from the early days being potent and intense. Despite Trojan saying it was a job for Nero, Nero never got paid. He figured Trojan was getting all the money. He didn’t understand why it had to be like that. Why any of it happened.

He didn’t let it blow over forever though. One day, he just snapped.

The two boys were eating the salted pork Nero had cooked on the balcony BBQ. It was a good fucking night, Nothing big, nothing exceptional, and Nero could just about stand Trojan’s presence without feeling a boiling rage in his blood at every word he said.

But then he ruined it by dropping this beauty on the table:

“i’m considering having Bert over again. He told me he misses you.”

“Does he?” Nero mumbled around a mouthful of pork. “You know…that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you tell me you’re gonna bring someone over before you brought someone over.”

“I always thought you’d like the surprise,” Trojan chuckled.

Nero glared at him, dropping his utensils. “No, you fucking don’t. You never think about what I’d like, you think about what you’d like, and how funny my expression is going to be when I find out.”

Then Trojan really laughed. “True, very true!”

It was like an involuntary twitch. The next moment, Nero had swiped his arm across the table, collecting mugs and plates and old beer bottles than never got put away, and smashing them onto the floor.

Trojan sat back with his hands in the air, doing his best to hold back any more laughter.

“Well then-…!”

“You think this is funny, do you!?”

“Nero-…”

“You think it’s hilarious doing whatever the fuck you want with me!?”

“No, I don’t!” Trojan raised his voice, looking defensive, before it slipped away to an impish gleam, “I think it’s fun.”

Nero grabbed a fork and threw it at him. Trojan ducked out of his chair, and the fork tinked harmlessly off the backrest.

“You god damn hyena!” Nero yelled at Trojans retreating back, “Come back here!”

Then a chase was on down the hallway to their rooms. Nero grabbed Trojan by the neck of his shirt and fought to get him up against the wall, knocking a sunshine print off its hook.

“What?” Trojan asked, his humour dying, “What’s your problem all of a sudden?”

Then Nero realised something. He was looking down at Trojan. Trojan was tall, just as he often bragged, and when Nero first saw him he admitted to himself that the guy had quite a bit of height to him but…

But Nero was taller.

“I’m not going to change, Nero.” Trojan said, low and serious. “And if you don’t like it, you can get the fuck out.”

Nero took a mental step back on the situation. Trojan’s expression had changed. He looked as if he was going down from some sort of manic state…suddenly everything about Trojan, the Trojan that Nero had painted in his head was flaking.

“I’m not asking you to change.” Nero told him. “I don’t want you to change. I just want to feel like you actually give a shit about me once in a blue moon.”

“You want me to give a shit about you?” Trojan quirked an eyebrow. “Who say’s I don’t?”

“No one.” Nero muttered. “But no one says you do, either. And it pisses me off.”

“Pisses you off…well go on then. Throw a punch if you’re so pissed off. I hear I make for great stress relief when used as a punching bag. Go on!”

Trojan shoved at Nero’s chest. Nero staggered, but just stared at him, “I’m not going to hit you Trojan.”

“I think you are. You’ve been meaning to…” Trojan grinned, “Actually…I think I know what you need…how about I bottom out for you then? Go on, my treat!”

Nero shoved him back this time, “You can’t solve every problem in your life with sex, you dumb cunt!”

Trojan pushed against Nero again, “come on, pussy boy! Man up and show me what you’ve got! You want me to care? I bet you want me to, in fact you want me to pay for being such an uncaring prick up until this point, right? So go on! Or do you just want to be another one of my bitches?”

Nero’s eyes took on a dangerous glint at that last remark. He lashed out, taking a fistful of Trojan’s shirt and propelling him back against the wall.

“You’re going to regret saying that to me,” Nero growled lowly, before he crushed their mouths together, delving into a fierce kiss with his fucked up boyfriend.

Their teeth clanked briefly as he changed angles, flexing his jaw, a full month’s worth of built up frustration and outrage fuelling him as his hands clutched tighter at Trojan’s chest, screwing up his nice shirt and inadvertently smarting the skin underneath. Trojan just moaned. He went to card his fingers through Nero’s hair, only to have his hands held up above his head.

Nero was so sick of listening to him carry on like that, egging him on, sick of coming home to some new girl on the couch. Some new guy who’s come to say hello to Nero’s body. Now Trojan was offering up the chance to get even? Well, he was going to get even tonight.

 

* * *

 

  
He was bone tired. Dinner, and the events after dinner, were exhausting. At some point int he early morning, possibly around 3:00, he felt a mouth on him. He was still half asleep as he responded by lazily pursing his lips against the familiar ones. Just by the feel of it he knew it was Trojan.

“I’m going away for a bit,” Trojan whispered down, before pecking him on the lips again, “don’t open the door until I get back…okay?”

“…okay…” Nero mumbled, tired and not caring; he just wanted to get back to sleep.

“I’ll ring you when I’m out front.”

“…okay…”

“Promise you won’t open the door until you hear me ring?”

“…Yuh-huh…”

Another fierce kiss on the lips. “That’s my boy.”

Then he walked off, and before Nero fell back into a dream, he whispered out, “Love you…”

And he was asleep, completely obvious to the tightrope Trojan had been balancing on.

 

* * *

 

 

The next time he woke up, daybreak was just knocking. Everything was cold, and decidedly lonely with the quiet of the street outside his window. But the isolated quiet made him privy to the noises in his apartment.

There were boots on the floorboards, a lot of them, and the sound of rummaging about in the living room. Nero frowned, trying to figure out who these people were, and hoping to god it wasn’t more of Trojan’s clients.

Then the door to his bedroom burst open, and a big burly man in a raincoat was staring him down.

He called over his shoulder, load and guttural enough to bring Nero further out of unconsciousness. “There’s a boy in here.”

More shuffling from the living room and another equally intimidating beefcake appeared to completely block the doorway.

With eyes like a hawk, he barked; “Grab him.”

Nero froze as they descended on him. It wasn’t until the black bag went over his head that he snapped into reality.

“H-HEY!” He yelled.

He lashed out, kicking at where he last saw body mass and hit a thigh, but barely got a response. They made quick work throwing him on his stomach, as he squirmed and cried out. There was a terrible moment, a moment of raw panic, where he though they were going to rape him on his bed. Luckily it never came to that. They tied his hands behind his back before lifting him up. His heart was relieved of some stress as he was manhandled out of the room. He wriggled and writhed in their arms, kneeing and kicking and wailing like something tortured. At one point they just dropped him, and he landed on the floor with a thump.

“Jesus he just keeps kicking like a dying fish! I can’t hold the little turd!”

“Tie his legs together then, what are you doing?”

Nero hollered and howled another cry for help when he felt more hands at his ankles, hoping to wake the whole damn apartment if he could. Surely, he thought, surely someone could hear him? Surely someone was going to call the police, or knock on the door asking what all the fuss was about! They’d done both for far less in the past!

But soon he was bound tight, helplessly thrown over one of their shoulders like a sack of potatoes and taken through the front door.

He could feel himself bounce as they trotted down all those flights of stairs. He screamed as he passed a door, he knew there was a door! At the bottom of every flight of steps there’s a door to another room. So each time there was a break in the bouncing, where they'd swing him around a bit, he knew he was at another floor, and would struggle a little harder, a little louder. His voice echoed around, bouncing off walls and traveling up and down the stairwell, it was impossible for him to not have been heard.

“Shut up!” Said one of the men, but Nero didn’t stop until they hit him on the head. The instrument they used made a loud crack, and Nero felt something wet accumulate in his hair, rolling down behind his ear, and he hoped to god it was just sweat and not blood.

He wasn’t knocked unconscious, just intimidated into quieting down to whimpers. He figured that the ruckus he’d made should’ve been enough, It had to have been.

But Nero wasn't aware of the bystander effect. He wasn’t aware that every single apartment dweller heard him that morning, but no one did anything. Because people like that, in a situation like that, don't act. They think to themselves, ‘oh, surely someone else has already called the police by now, I don’t need to do anything, just stay quiet and I’ll be safe.’ And as a result of every single apartment dweller thinking so, the police were not called. Not that it would've done any good, considering who those men were. Who they represented.

So Nero was taken away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missed me? No? Okay...


	7. Red Scales Part 4: The Fall

“Do you know who I am?” The man asked, “What you’re doing here?”

Nero just stared at him, silent to try and conceal his fear, before shaking his head.

He had no idea where _here_ even was, but he was tied to a chair and admittedly — but never aloud — scared. After being kidnapped and shoved in a car, he was expecting something shady, like an abandoned basement with grime and an echo, but that wasn’t the case.

It was a small dark room. The walls were covered with studio foam panels for sound absorption. Even though there weren’t any instruments or recording equipment around, just Nero, sitting in the centre. The kid had an intense lamp light shining in his eyes and at least four men keeping him company.

One of them sat across from him, the others all hidden in the blurry dark, watching on with amusement.

His interrogator spoke, his voice full of bass, “No, I don’t suppose you know what’s going on. You don’t look particularly bright, lamb chop, so I’ll do my best to simplify the situation for you.” He rubbed his chin, looking at Nero’s boots as he tried to work it down to layman’s terms for him.

He pointed at the kid with one finger before starting, “You’re boyfriend is a very bad man."  
  
He chuffed a laugh, "But that’s fine, because he works in the business where being a bad man is a good thing. He got a bit greedy, though. He’s been skimming milk off me. We started calling him the milk man, didn’t we?”

Everyone laughed all on cue. It was very surreal.

The man interrogating Nero chuckled too, “Yes we did, good ol’ milk-man, at it again. That was bad enough, but you see what really sealed the deal? I only found out about you a couple of weeks ago. You, and lord only knows how many whores.”

He sat back and continued with a more serious tone, “How this business works is that the money a whore makes gets split. Some they keep, some to the pimp, but most goes straight to my boss. Now your Trojan,” The phrase ‘your Trojan’ became more and more venomous each time he used it, “He started doing side deals. We don’t do side deals. We don’t do private whores even if it’s on your own time. Especially if you’re gonna be poaching my regulars with those private whores. But that’s what he did. That’s what your Trojan did. He didn’t tell Jester, or give me any of his recruits. Now it’s time the boss got his cut.”

The man slapped his knees, the noise made Nero jump, “So!”

He dragged the crate he was sitting on closer to Nero, before flicking out a knife.

“You, pumpkin, you…” He flicked out a knife, “You’re going to tell me where your Trojan is, or I’m going to have to cut your face.”

Nero glanced at the knife through the glare of the light before saying, “Why...why hurt me? I didn't...”

“It’s just the way it is in this business. Because if it’s not my product, I gotta break it.” He points the tip of the knife at Nero’s eye before saying, “Now where’d he go?”

Nero had no fucking idea what he was going to do. he found himself choking up. He didn’t want to spill, but he didn’t want to get hurt either. So he stayed silent, hoping his bravado would win out, and Trojan would be okay.

Seconds ticked by, before the man with the knife gave a gruff: “Nothing?” as he stared the kid down.

Nero thinned his lips.

He didn’t break eye contact as he said, “You think this kid will still look cute without a nose in the centre of his face?”

“Doubt it, sir.”

“One way to find out.”

Nero kept his mouth shut tight even as the man grabbed his jaw firmly and put the blade to the side of his nose. His breathing came quicker, in an’ out, through his nostrils. He nearly whimpered when he felt the blade dig into his skin. His face screamed with heat just from that little cut. Adrenaline came pumping fast, working to dull the pain, but there was going to be a lot. Too much for his body to hide from his brain.

“Come on, pretty boy,” Someone tutted from behind his chair, “Not too late to spill.”

Nero finally chose to speak, and he wanted to kick himself by how terrified he sounded, he wanted to sound indignant, “He just told me to keep the door shut behind him…!”

Which wasn’t entirely true. Trojan had been talking about leaving a few times, hinting at exactly where he’d go. If they pushed him hard enough, he could easily tell them exactly what they want to know. And they were shoving.

Nero felt something drip down his face and, fuck, was that blood or sweat? He couldn’t tell, but it was sending unpleasant images through his head. Of what mirrors would look like-…

He gritted his teeth, “Stop, I don’t know…I don’t know!”

“Oh, you know,” His interrogator sang back, “you know.”

Nero desperately tried to yank his head away from where the knife was biting the side of his nose, but someone behind him had his head in an arm lock now. He could feel there body heat; there was a lot of mass, a lot of muscle, he wasn’t going anywhere.

The man with the knife pinched his nostrils shut, pulling taunt. Like he was going to play that game parents play with their children, where they show their thumb sticking out between their fingers and say, ‘got your nose!’

“No?” The interrogator asked, and the light flickered off the knife, “nothing?”

Nero squeezed his eyes shut and started to breath through his teeth. Fuck, he was so fucked.

“Alright then.”

All Nero could think was Trojan wouldn’t love him with a hole in his face.

Then a phone rang, like a call from God, and the sound made the knife stop.

Because it was Nero’s phone. It had been confiscated and was sitting in the corner. The caller didn’t have an ID.

The men let it ring out to voice mail.

 _No,_ Nero thought, _don't be-..._

Trojan’s voice came after the beep, _“Nero, answer your fucking phone, it’s Trojan. I’m out front. I want you to come down to the car, we need to go.”_

Nero was let go and the light’s were turned on. Through wide eyes he looked around at everyone’s face. The man who had threatened to cut off Nero’s nose quickly jotted something down on a notepad and held it up, **‘say you’re not home.’**

A shape in his peripheral moved to grab the phone before handing it to the interrogator who put it on loud speaker. He held it towards Nero.

Nero licked his lips, tasting iron, before saying, “Trojan?”

_“Nero, thanks for answering, now get down here, for fuck sake.”_

“I’m not home.”

 _“What?”_ Trojan’s voice crackled.

Another note was raised: **‘Grocery shopping.’**

Nero thought about what was missing in the fridge back home, “I had to go buy some milk.”

 _“Nero…”_ Trojan’s voice was shaky, but he did his best to control it, _“Nero, babe, I told you not to open the door.”_

“I thought you said don’t answer it?” Nero said, his temper spiking as his cut stung.

_“I did, but…fuck it. Where are you? I’ll pick you up.”_

His kidnapper held up an address for Nero to recite.

Trojan was silent for a few seconds after hearing it.

 _“That area of the city ain’t no good.”_ Was his response after a while, before sighing, _“How about we meet up in the food court? I’ll wait just outside McDonalds. Sound good?”_

**‘Good.’**

“That works…” Nero whispered.

It was too quiet for Trojan to hear; _“Nero…Nero, you there?”_

Nero picked up his voice. “That works.”

_“Okay good, We’ll meet up in an hour. Got it? An hour.”_

“Ye-…”

Trojan hang up.

A man chuckled behind him, “‘babe’, the fuck…”

“You his favourite?” His interrogator asked.

Nero didn’t know what to say, but the burn of his cut was putting him in a foul mood, so he just glared. At least he wasn't scared any more.

The interrogator smiled and looked up, “We’ve got an hour, boys, let’s go get ready.”

A bag was drawn over Nero's head and without another word, he was man-handled out of the room and into another car.

 

Nero never thought he'd see the day, but he found himself praying that Trojan didn't give enough of a shit about him to show up. He was on the run now, and time was of the essence, so messing around, looking for one of your prostitutes to come along wasn't exactly a smart idea.

And so he waited outside McDonalds, having ordered nothing but small fries, feeling to sick to his stomache for anything more, despite being told to order something normal. He hoped that the car parked across the road wasn't his boyfriend and, fuck, it was. Fuck.

He didn't hide his expression - whatever it was, he wasn't sure what face he was making - but he didn't want to Trojan to think nothing was wrong with him. Maybe it'd put him off as he walked towards where Nero sat. He had speed to his step and the moment he was by his side he was taking Nero up by the elbow and saying, "We need to go, we need to go right fucking now."  
   
"Trojan," Nero sighed, "You should've just forgotten about it."  
  
"I know they're here, I saw the cars," he hissed through his teeth, and it struck Nero harder than a slap, "I'll lose them, we just need to get to the car. I can lose them."  
  
He was repeating himself, a sure sign that he was anxious. So Nero followed him to his car and was quick about it.

Needless to say, he didn't lose them. They boxed them in, three black cars in total, and he was stuck behind a civilian that had obeyed the law and stopped at a red light.

Trojan had one hand on the wheel, and his grip tightened until his knuckles turned white.

"I should've just left you there." He muttered, eyes glistening with fear and frustration as the car next to him opened it's passenger door. Out stepped a goon with a golf club and a bad look.

"I know." Was Nero's response.

Then there was gunshot, and it was a lot louder than in the movies.

The man who was about to shatter Trojan's window cried out and fell back on his car. Red was soaking through his dress shirt from where Trojan had shot him with the pistol on his lap. He dropped the gun on the floor and stepped on the gas the moment he saw that the person in front of him had done the same. Guns opened fire behind them, tearing up the boot but luckily the tires and the lives inside the car were fine.  
  
There was a ringing in Nero's head the whole way to the train station. They were both sure that this time, Trojan had actually lost them. After finding a quiet place to park, he handed Nero his belongings from the back seat. Everything was crammed into a single backpack, which made him feel rather humble. They left the car in the dog park across from the train station, seeing as it was full of holes and no good for downplaying suspicion. The number plates were blank as well.  
  
They crossed the road and Nero had to ask, "Where are we going?"  
  
"I was thinking France or Mexico." He pronounced 'Mexico' correctly, but it was probably for comedic effect.

"Seriously?"  
  
"No, of course not. We're going..." Trojan sighed, "We're going...look, I don't know, okay? I tried to call in some favours but they're all dead ends. No one wants anything to do with a pimp who pissed off the Sparda family."

Nero nodded his head. "I love it."  
  
"What?"

"Oh, I love it how you've handled all this. It's fantastic! Selling me off, lying to me and now you're suddenly all 'blah blah blah, I'm a pimp, blah blah' like when the fuck did you drop on your head?"

"You're being a little bitch, Nero. I saved your life back there when I could've just boarded this train alone."  
  
"Yeah, about that!" Nero brought Trojan's attention to the scar hiding in the shadow of Nero's nose, "You see this? Do you see this? Know what that's from? That's from a guy threatening to cut my fucking nose off if I didn't tell him where you were."  
  
"That's not as impressive as you make it sound," Trojan muttered, obviously bewildered, "You didn't know where I was."  
  
"I did, Trojan! I knew exactly where you were and yet I kept my mouth shut for you. Where's _my_ thank you, huh bitch?"

Trojan stopped walking and gave Nero a kiss. It was enough of a shock to make Nero stagger back.

"There it is," Trojan grinned, and the look in his eyes was so naked and genuine, that Nero believed, for the first and only time, that Trojan actually loved him. After all, he walked right into a trap for him, didn't he?

That he did.

Trojan had chosen a train station that was quiet, at least Nero thought the quiet was intentional. They reached the stairs to take them up to the boarding area, when Trojan noticed the black car parked in the taxi zone. He frowned and only had enough time to hope that it wasn't what he thought it was, before he was punched in the earlobe. He collapsed like a bag of cement and Nero was shoved away from him. Five men ganged up on Trojan; kicking him, punching him, taking turns pulling him up to throw him against something hard like a pillar or a trash bin. Now the quiet was ruined.

Nero yelled for them to stop but didn't move from where he was on the ground when he saw that one of them had a gun. A submachine gun, which the man stood back to load. Suddenly the sound of punching and screaming and kicking and pleading seemed so much quieter than the sound of a fully automatic weapon unloading a clip into your boyfriend.


	8. Red Scales Part 5: Nero

He wasn’t a coward for running. He’d already lost what he would’ve fought to protect. It happened far too fast for him to have done anything, there was nothing to brave except death and he wasn’t ready. So he ran. Nothing wrong with that.

Except while he sat in hiding, he was telling himself he was a coward. 

 

* * *

 

When he made his way back into the city, doing his best not to think at all, he stepped into a pay phone booth and dialed up a friend’s number. He asked if he could sleep over at there’s. Can’t, she’s got relatives staying over for the week.

When he hung up, he realized he wouldn’t be able to afford a room, not unless he wanted to be skipping out on a few meals for the next couple of days. Food and shelter are the basic necessities of life, but what do you do if you can only pick one?

Well, Nero chose food.

Which meant he spent the good first half of the night looking around the alleyways and footpaths for a spare mattress someone might’ve chucked out on the corner, his backpack strapped extra tight.

He ended up sleeping on the steps of the public library. The steps had little metal lumps on them that were not put there for decoration. They were put there to stop homeless people from sleeping on the steps…which was him, specifically.

He’d slept for all of about half an hour there before a cop kicked him awake.

“Oi.” the officer said. “You can’t sleep here.”

Nero just grumbled at him. His lack of a response earned him rough hands; yanking him up on his two feet. Nero tore himself away and started to cuss.

Looking, he realised there were two of them, and fighting now seemed very stupid.

The officer that grabbed him held up a palm, “Alright, alright now, kiddo, no need to get hostile. Do you have a place to sleep?”

“No.” Nero snapped.

They didn’t at all seem fazed by Nero’s temper, instead they directed him towards a project, that was just a few blocks away, where he could arrange to stay.

“There’s also a homeless shelter if you can’t afford the project just yet. The residence there would be able to tell you all about the shelter though, if that’s the case. It’s not home…” the other cop chipped in, “…but, yeah, it’s better than concrete steps.”

They even offered to drive him there, which was more kindness than anyone had offered him in a while, but he declined. He didn’t want to sit in a cops car, even for a good reason. They left Nero to himself, just as he requested.

He contemplated apologising for his outburst, but promptly forgot about it. He tightened the straps on his backpack and headed down the block as the cops drove away.

 

* * *

 

 

He recognised his tattoo artist immediately. He wasn’t expecting to find him in such a squalor, but there he was. Nero kept his head low and took his sandwich to a secluded table from everyone else.

It was a stupid move, because not a moment later there were heavy footsteps and the same man taking a seat right next to him.

“Jester’s not hunting you.” he opened with, “In case you were losing sleep over that being a p-p-p-possibility.”

Nero kept quiet and took a bite out of his sandwich. “You’re involved with the Sparda family too, huh.”

Agnus looked around, obviously unnerved that Nero could say that name so casually. “Trojan helped me in the past with some…needs. He always delivered, even if my request weren’t strictly on the list. It all caught up with him, in the end.”

Nero tried to ignore how close Agnus was sitting. Their thighs were touching.

“We never had any beef with you, just with Trojan. You’re not to blame for what happened. If you think about it, you and Jester were in the same position; both of you were getting sc-sc-c-c…sc-screwed over. It’s just that Jester…” He clasped his fingers together, trying to keep his tone sympathetic, “…wasn’t as forgiving as you are.”

He was met with taunt silence.

“Regardless, when he found out you were here, he sent me to let you know that there weren’t any hard feelings on his end. In fact, if the smell of homeless people starts to get to you, his door is open. He’ll happily compensate you for the pain he put you through, maybe give you a loan that’ll put you on your feet. Not to mention we’re always looking for extra hands, you might even get a j-j-job out of him.”

He looked at him out of the corner of his eye. Nero was aware that Agnus was attracted to him, whether that made him gay or bi or simply curious was still up in the air at that point, but he was definitely a customer on the waiting list.

“You know…” Agnus drawled, “The discount Trojan got for you on your tattoo is still viable. So if you wish to f-f-finish it...”

He jotted down personal information on his business card before placing it in Nero’s jacket pocket.

"I don't have enough money even for the discount." Nero mumbled.

"We'll figure something out, I'm sure." With that he slapped his thigh and left.

It was a ballsy move because if Nero had felt inclined to take this to the police, he could’ve. But they’d done their homework, it seemed; they knew Nero would rather be caught dead on the sidewalk than alive in a police station. It was an act of trust either way, and Nero wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

 

* * *

 

 

Getting a job had never been so difficult before. It was tough, but now it seemed impossible. All he could manage were intermittent jobs. Or chores for his friends. ‘Clean the fish bowl while I’m out and I’ll give you five bucks,’ that sort of thing.

He’d gotten into a bad habit of going on dates just for the free food, then leaving before they could take it further than breakfast. Not that he wouldn't mind sex, but it would mean testing the waters of a relationship, which he simply wasn't ready for.

Not to mention it was getting difficult to nurse his arm while he was living in the project. ‘Unsanitary’ would be a nice way to put it. On his dates, he’d wear a long-sleeved hoodie drenched in cologne, so as to hide his glad-wrapped tattoo and the stink of poverty.

He was able to afford the blue scales, which he’d managed to keep from infection and were settling nicely. He could still physically pay for the red ones, but with his current living standards it wouldn’t be a smart move. He needed somewhere better to stay. Before that - though - he needed food. He needed some new socks too…another jacket to get ready for winter…a bed…

No…what he needed was money.

Money had become his number one worry, it tormented him every day. How much was left? How much did he need? Where was the next sum going to be coming from? When he was younger it was never a worry. Hell, the first time he was homeless it wasn’t a worry, because he knew he’d hit rock bottom with gold still in his pocket.

But he’d been eating into his savings. Now he barely had shrapnel.

On one terrifying visit to the bank, he’d discovered someone had hacked into his account. Except they’d deposited about two grand instead of taking any of the measly one hundred and fifty he had left.

He didn’t enjoy that fact, especially when he discovered that the deposit was under the name “Jester”. But he kept the money anyway.

He was put into a corner, and he really only saw one way out…because there was also one other need that wasn’t being fulfilled.

What other choice did he have? 

Nero fished out his tattoo artist’s business card. He flipped it over to look at the back, finding the mobile number and personal address Agnus had added in blue Biro there under the business details. Also Jester’s address, but he looked past that. He slotted some coins into the pay phone and dialed it up.

 

* * *

 

 

“Nice place,” Nero commented as he looked around his apartment. The walls were covered in artwork, some of Agnus’s popular tattoo designs were mounted and framed, though most of the things hung up were old romanticist paintings.

Nero walked up to a particularly gruesome one. It depicted a giant holding the pallid body of a man in it’s hands, devouring his flesh.

“That one is titled Saturn,” Agnus stepped up close, “Or more commonly known as ‘Saturn Eating his Son’. Are you f-f-familiar with Goya?”

“Can’t say I am.”

Agnus cupped the back of Nero’s neck with a gloved palm, looking between the young boy and the graphic image. “This is one of my p-p-p-personal favourites; he never intended the world to see it.”

‘I’m not going to judge you on that,” Nero muttered.

Nero found himself captivated yet repulsed by the painting, to the point he felt like Agnus’s touch was just distracting him from it, but his attention was bought away when Agnus pressed insistently closer, his breath laden with lecherous impatience. That hand on his neck gripped firmer, and it’s brother came up under the front of Nero’s muscle shirt to explore.

The young boy staring at the painting had never done this on his own before — fucked a stranger for money that is — even if his boyfriend was just in the next room, it would’ve been somewhat more calming. Trojan was his training wheels, without him Nero was scared but he kept it down. He wasn’t going to let himself be spooked by a bit of casual sex.

Adrenaline pumped through his system as the bear invaded his space, crossed borders with every touch and every heated breath he blew into Nero’s ear. His long fringe brushed Nero’s shoulder, tickling him, while he kissed along his collarbone. Nero gulped, eyes locked with the beastly God’s, as he felt those gloved fingers play with his nipples, perking them up under his shirt.

“Relax.” Agnus told him.

Nero forced himself to, leaning back against the solid wall of man behind him. He felt an erection prod against his thigh. His body wasn’t responding to his brain anymore, only to the touch and proximity of the person whom he’d leased his soul to for the night.

The hand on his neck slipped around to the front, like a constrictor finding the perfect grip on it’s prey. He clamped down on his windpipe and squeezed, not quite enough to completely cut off his air, but enough to feel that he easily could, if the mood struck him.

“You’re surprisingly quiet all of a sudden,” Agnus breathed into his ear. Nero didn’t respond, not for a lack of trying but when he opened his mouth all that came out was a small wheeze. Agnus chuckled.

“You t-t-talked so much while getting your ink done. Talked my ear off. You certainly enjoyed m-m-mocking my Faith.”

He squeezed tighter. And Nero touched his gripping fingers, to warn him, and tried to speak, “…a-…!”

Agnus hissed through his gritted, grinning teeth, “You Godless boy.”

Suddenly, he was released and Agnus backed off. He gasped for air and hurriedly smoothed down his shirt. He honestly thought he was going to choke him to death for a moment. Not only that...

Nero was very, _very_ hard.

He turned around to see Agnus detach the punching bag from the ceiling. It dropped heavily to the floor. The John rolled it a metre or so away from him with the tip of his shoe. He brushed his fringe out of his face before pointing at the bag. “Take off your clothes and bend yourself over that. I’ll be right back.”

And with that Agnus walked off.

The flustered young man hesitated a moment, before doing as he was told. He stripped down and neatly folded his clothes on the sofa, before walking over to the punching bag and getting into position. He felt a little silly kneeling there with his ass up and bare. What really embarrassed him, however, was how turned on he was. Something about being naked in someone else’s house, out in the open and just waiting for someone to come into the room and see him, was an experience he could see himself getting addicted to if he didn’t keep himself in check.

He waited on the floor, his ears trying to pick up what Agnus was doing in the other room. With each tick of the clock, he was getting more and more agitated.

When Agnus came back, Nero quickly looked over his shoulder to see what he had gone off to get.

The tattooist had discarded his jacket, wearing only his pressed pants and dress shirt. The buttons looked ready to burst from the swell of such a stocky torso. He held a bundle of…something…in his hands that Nero couldn't identify; it was all wrapped in a towel.

“Beautiful,” He chuckled as he took in the sight, “You can follow basic instructions. Good. Now stay still, if you’ll please.”

He placed the towel on the floor, revealing it’s contents. There was a box of latex gloves, condoms, lube, handcuffs and some sort of clamp that Nero wasn’t familiar with.

“What’s that?” Nero asked, his eyes on the metal contraption as Agnus neatly straightened it in line with the other supplies.

“Just a little instrument, don’t let it frighten you.” Agnus settled himself behind Nero, out of his line of sight, “Now I must ask; how regular are you?”

Nero flushed when he heard the snap of latex, “Pretty regular…”

“How much is ‘pretty’?”

The pop of a lid was followed by the wet sounds of him lubing up his fingers.

“I’m clean if that’s what you’re getting at…” Nero’s voice was growing smaller, not because he was shy, but because he was getting bored of talking.

“That’s good to hear.”

Nero gasped softly when he felt those cold, greased fingers against his hole.

Agnus smeared his crack with a decent amount of lube. The sounds it made were so wet and raunchy, it was enough on it’s own to get Nero riled up. It felt good, how he massaged his sphincter muscles with a finger without penetrating. He moved his hips and pushed against the digit insistently, seeing if he could trick it into slipping inside him.

Nero yelped as a hard slap cracked across his ass cheek.

“Don’t move.” He said. Nero obeyed.

Something the kid couldn’t help but notice was that Agnus wasn’t stuttering. Regardless, the latex gloves practically did all the talking Nero was willing to hear. They told him he was filthy; too filthy to even touch. That did something weird to him, made him aroused and ashamed at the same time.

Finally, possibly as a reward, the finger prodded Nero’s entrance, the ring of muscles opening up like the petals of a flower bud. Agnus hummed in delight, enjoying the tight velvet heat he could feel squeezing his finger through the latex. He forced a groan out of him as he sunk down to the knuckle.

“Please, loose the glove,” Nero finally managed to say, and he scared himself with the amount of arousal that was so blatant in his voice, “I told you I’m clean…”

Agnus yanked his finger out, causing Nero to groan sharply. He gripped Nero’s hair, forcing his head back, and leant over so he could see his face up close. He gripped his jaw and slipped the finger that had just been in his ass into his mouth.

Nero wrapped his lips around the digit and moaned, curling his tongue around the rubber. He was relieved to find he could only taste latex.

“Are you really clean?” He asked.

Nero moaned again as the finger stroked the back of his tongue.

“You don’t look clean to me.”

He extracted the finger and went back to prepping his ass. The kid wanted to call him something degrading back, maybe he could mock his beliefs, when he’s doing something like this in his free time or…

 _Jeez,_ Nero thought, interrupting himself, _he’s using a lot of lube…_

Soon enough, Agnus had slipped a second finger inside, then a third. He took his sweet time. It all seemed to be for Nero’s benefit, or so he thought. Eventually he extracted his fingers.

Nero jumped at the sudden cold touch of metal at his opening and asked, “Is that the clamp?”

Agnus chuckled at him, “It’s called a speculum; doctor’s use it for medical examinations.”

“You’re kidding me.” Nero held his breath when he felt it prod at his entrance, and with little to no resistance, it eased past his pliant hole and sunk an inch inside of him, “Nope…no you’re not.”

“No, I’m not. Now stop talking and stay still.”

Agnus probed him with the speculum until it sunk to the base. He took a moment for Nero to adjust. He even smoothed a gloved hand over the globe of his left cheek; his only gesture of comfort.

“Now,” He breathed in a guttural voice, “Let’s open you up…”

Slowly, almost methodically, Agnus began to turn the screw. The prongs gradually began to separate. With each twist, the prongs of the speculum grew further and further apart. Nero’s back was glazed with sweat from exertion, as he subconsciously squeezed the foreign object, as he felt himself be pried open.

Nero hung his head when he felt Agnus’s laboured breath on his backside. He knew — he could just imagine his ugly face right up close — that Agnus was staring inside of him. He thinned his lips to hold back from making a sound as a slick finger slipped in between the prongs. It was blatantly clear now that Agnus was playing with him like a toy.

He’d never felt so violated, being studied like a dissected frog, but it seemed to get Agnus nice and hot.

It was almost a mercy when he felt the speculum being pulled out of him, letting his hole close to a pucker again.

“Not bad,” He said, as he showed Nero how wide the speculum had stretched him.

He was surprised, it looked to be little over two inches in diameter, but it had felt like he was tearing him five metres wide. Agnus dropped the speculum on the blanket before he yanked Nero to his feet by his hair. Though he swore at him, his own cock twitched at the rough treatment. He was brought over to where the punching bag had previously been hung.

“Hands up. Above your head.” Agnus ordered, showing him the handcuffs so he knew what was happening.

Nero did as he was told.

He was cuffed to the ceiling; stretched and ready for the butcher. Now there was no way for Nero to hide his erection as it stood tall and hot against his abdomen. Agnus regarded him with a leer before he stripped off his gloves. He cupped Nero’s jaw in his powdery palms and stole a kiss.

Nero wasn’t very responsive. His lips were soft and lethargic in their movement as Agnus ravished his face. Evidently a response didn’t seem to matter to him, just permission was enough. Just a deal.

Agnus pulled away, his eyes taking in Nero’s face; his well-defined jaw; his high cheekbones; his pretty eyes; everything there was to take in. Agnus was soon tearing open a gold condom packet with his teeth. He zipped open his fly and quickly rolled on the rubber.

Nero stared down at the huge thing he calls a cock, as Agnus slathered it with a fair helping of lube; an etiquette that Nero would see less and less of in the coming years.

He gripped Nero’s ass cheek, groping the muscles, before slapping the back of his thigh and telling him, “Hike your legs up and wrap them around me.”

Nero did just that, pulling on the chain to lift his weight. He hooked his long legs around Agnus’s waist.

The adrenaline was really starting to kick in with the prospect of what was to come. Agnus lined up his fat cock underneath him, pressing the concealed head against Nero’s hole. The tattoo artist’s eyes never left Nero’s face. He wanted to see the falter in his composure and miss not a single second of it.

The resistance was pitiful; even Nero’s natural bodily function of keeping invasions out had melted into the perfect receptacle. He sank down Agnus’s cock. It seemed to grow wider as he went, slipping inside with gravity doing most of the work.

Nero’s mouth hung open as he sank to the base, the thrill of sex still tantalising new to him. “Oh fuck, you’re in…”

“That’s right,” Agnus grinned hungrily at the boy.

“Oh fuck, you’re in…oh shit…you’re in me—”

Then they were moving, and Nero was officially fucking a near stranger, all on his own accord.

Agnus was rough and unapologetic, using him freely and fucking him for all he was worth. Maybe he was even a little impressed Nero took him so well, though he did make doubly sure that miss-comfort wouldn't occur. Agnus wasn't attractive, in fact the man repulsed Nero on many levels. He didn’t want his hands or his face and he certainly didn’t want that speculum prying him open to take a peep inside his soul through his anus.

He just wanted his cock. He wanted it to keep thrusting up into his ass with all the aggression he could muster. He wanted to keep bouncing on it. He just wanted sex. He wanted to feel important. He wanted to feel like the centre of the universe through the anchor of pleasure. That was all it was, for a long, long time. 

He forgot about everything else.

What surprised Nero most was that Agnus was so good at this. He soon felt a sensation growing from the base of his dick, like pins and needles, which intensified with each thrust inside of him. Soon enough, his entire cock was tingling.

It was like something was pressing at the cap of a bottle, and the build up was killing him. It shocked him more than anything, he almost wanted to try and hold it down, but he simply couldn’t. Without Agnus or himself even touching his erection, he came. He made a mess between them; catching his stomach and even Agnus’s nice shirt.

He sagged as he came down from his climax, his head lolling to resting on his damp shoulder. Agnus kept going; sweating and swearing as he fucked his used ass, making the poor kid hiss from the pain.

Agnus’s grunts rose higher in pitch and volume until he burst, finally finishing into the condom.

After Agnus was done he pulled out straight away, as if Nero was scolding to touch. The boys legs dropped heavily from where they’d been perched on his hips. Nero’s limbs felt numb.

The apartment was filled with the sounds of laboured panting as the whole world seemed to still and take a few breathes with them. Then — too soon for either of them — reality returned and stole the pleasure out of life again. The peak of dopamine in Nero’s brain faded, leaving him hungry for his next fix.

His blood boiled with shame, because his mind — now sobered — remembered Trojan.

And Kyrie.

He looked up at his handcuffed wrists, and knew at that moment he was going to have to return to where he’d just been. Didn’t matter who with…he was going to need it if he was to keep on trudging through this shit-storm.

Agnus un-cuffed him from the ceiling and let him drop to his knees like a sack of horny cement.

“G-g-g-…,” Agnus stuttered. He paused, frustrated with himself for his speech impediment returning. He turned his back on the prostrated young man, slipped off the used latex and threw it in the bin as he passed it. “…G-ge-get changed. I’ll do your tattoo now.”

“I’m tired,” Nero mumbled to the floor.

“You can f-fall asleep on the chair, it’ll make my j-j-job easier, really.”

Agnus shut the bathroom door behind him. 

Nero — with the tenderness of an old man — got to his feet. The feet he still couldn’t quite feel the toes of. His legs weren’t feeling quite right either, nor did the rest of him. He’d never reached orgasm purely through his ass before, and it was something of an experience, one he planned on learning how to repeat. Over and over again. He permitted himself to grin. It felt bitter sweet, and sore on his lips.

He cleaned himself up with the towel and got changed into his neatly folded clothes. He got Kyrie’s portfolio and laid back in Agnus’s tattooing chair, waiting for him to finish up in the bathroom.

He almost melted into the chair he was so tired.

Agnus came in with a scowl, but upon seeing Nero, the fucked-up beauty he was, flashed the boy a predatory smile. The tattooist got started rather quick upon entering. The boy kept his eyes shut the whole time.

Nero hissed when he felt the familiar hot scratching of the needle, but soon it settled down.

It was weird how the sensation of getting a tattoo was just as addictive as anything else. Being stagnant had always been a fear of his, and the tattoo — getting a tattoo — calmed that worry. It was a checkpoint marker, telling him how far he’d journeyed from the outline, through the cold, lethargic blue, to the very last drop of burning red. It was the illusion of going somewhere, of having a goal, of something permanent, and that was comforting.

Eventually the weariness of his mind, the buzz of the needle and the burning itch in his arm lulled him to a half-awake nap.

During his nap, Nero dreamed of hellfire.

His arm was bubbling like a boiling sunburn, and crawling with tiny, flaming ants. Their little legs pricked him while their fangs pinched at the membrane of his peeling skin, revealing the new, pink layers underneath and nipping at that too. He wanted to brush them off, but couldn’t move. He was paralyzed again.

Calming him was a presence standing by his side. It carded it’s fingers through his bleach white hair, petting him. It was a devil, he figured out casually. It’s other clawed hand was stroking the inside of his thigh to calm the throbbing ache in his lower body. He sighed soundlessly, soaking up the attention.

It stood to his left — opposite of where Agnus sat in reality — and appeared to Nero as little more than a silhouette; a cut out of negative space in the red glow.

Nero loved it, whatever it was. He tried to reach out to that depthless void, but he still couldn’t lift an arm.

 _Let me touch you,_ was what he wanted to say. _Please._

His heart ached, heavy and solid and grounded. He loved that touchy-feely Devil and wished he could stay there in eternal torment with it. The ants could have his limb, strip it to the bone, he didn’t care, just so long as he could stay with the demon.

Within the core of the damned beast’s chest — the centre of the void — Nero witnessed a spark. The fire webbed out from it’s centre like lava snaking between grooves of molten rock. Nero gazed up into it’s face and saw it was twitching. Speaking. The Devil was whispering to him; something beautiful that he needed to hear.

Nero tried to hear what the Devil was saying but all it sounded like was a mechanical hum. Just white noise. His unconscious body tried to tune into what he was telling him, reaching out for a better signal, but he only succeeded in pulling himself out of his limbo.

He awoke and was reminded of the needle in his arm, buzzing away.

Agnus swathed away some dollops of blood, cleaning up the last scale, before announcing. “Alright kid, you’re d-d-d…d-d-d-d…”

“d-d-d-d…” Nero echoed him, before looking over with a cocked eyebrow, “…’done’ are we?”

Agnus glared at him, before slapping down on his thigh. “Yes, you’re d- _done_. Fuck off.”

Nero got up and stretched carefully, looking up at his tattooed hand as it reached for the ceiling light. It was done wasn’t it? The thought of it being done was depressing. Well, he’d heard of U.V ink…he heard it glowed in the dark. That sounded kind of cool. He might just save up for it. Though that was going to be a lot of money.

“Oh, Agnus…” he groaned as he popped a kink in his spine, “…I’m never done.”

 

* * *

 

 

He wasn't done. That was his job now. There were a lot of faces, a lot of memories.

A boy he met in a club was willing to pay.

“Here’s the thing,” He breathed, mouthing Nero’s throat, “I just want to get fucked in the ass right now…like…real bad.”

“That can be arranged,” said Nero.

He shoved his client down on the bed. If excitement had a price tag, the look on the boy’s face when he bounced on the mattress was an expensive one.

Another liked to ride him, and the setting would usually be the back of his pricey convertible. He came from a rich family, but seemed to enjoy sleeping with cheap whores.

Another man, about twice Nero's age, was rough and wanted Nero to suck his cock. It was with this man that Nero became consciously aware of his hunger for violence. He wanted his hair to be grabbed, his body to be bruised. He wanted it so badly, he was tempted to give the man’s dick a bit of teeth to incite him. He wanted to be treated roughly. To be used like a second hand toy. He needed to feel it. And he needed it now.

So he went further down his cock than he could usually handle and he choked. The client groaned and swelled against his lips at his efforts.

Nero kept himself down, suffocating himself almost. He chased the feeling, the panic was exciting. His fingers curled, his nails digging into the mans thighs from the ecstasy of it, choking on a thick pole of pulsating meat, before pulling away. A string of saliva connected his lips to the tip of the man’s cock, and he blinked the tears from his eyes. He dived back in, taking him down to the root, his chin pillowed in his balls. He moaned as his throat opened up to accommodate him. He started to bob, twisting his head, sucking hard.

The man thoroughly enjoyed the brutal attention. He held Nero’s head in his hands, stilling him, before thrusting into his mouth, fucking his throat open as if it were his ass. Nero knelt there and let him, enjoying the rough treatment, even better enjoying the fact he didn’t need to do anything. His fate wasn’t his to control anymore, the man above him could do whatever he liked. His hand slipped down into his lap at that thought, drool coating his chin as the john continued to shove his hips forwards. 

A woman arranged for them to meet in her hotel room. She rubbed her numerous rings before speaking her request, “I have a husband. He’s very macho, you understand. While I’m…I’m a little strange. In the bedroom he always says he’s open for new things, but trust me, when he says that he just means new ways to enter a vagina. Nothing else. What I’ve always been a little curious about is…”

She cracked her knuckles and blushed. “You’re familiar with the term salad tossing, I imagine?”

“Intimately.” Nero told her.

“Well…I don’t want you to do it to me, but…I was hoping…”

“You wanna lick my ass?”

She didn’t like the directness of it, that much was clear, but she nodded despite the way her face screwed up. “You didn’t have to say it like that but…y-yes. if you’d let me…”

Before she could even stutter her way to a finish, Nero had stood up and slipped off his shirt. He got out of the rest of his clothes and kicked them away into a corner, before crawling on top of the bed and lying down on his stomach.

“Have fun,” He said, before closing his eyes as if he was going to sleep.

There was a nervous little clear of the throat, before she shuffled over to Nero’s head and snuck a pillow from him. She gently touched Nero’s bare side, “Lift your hips for a second?” She whispered.

He did, and she slipped the pillow underneath him, so his hips stayed slightly elevated.

He felt the bed dip as she got up and knelt between his thighs. Her cold hands ghosted over his skin, up his thighs, over his cheeks, up his back and over his shoulders.

“You have a really nice body,” She murmured, “Have you ever been told that?”

“No.” He lied, but blushed none the less at the compliment.

“Do you work out?”

He nodded, eyes still closed as she brought her hands back down to the globes of his cheeks. He obviously didn’t see it, but her eyes skimmed down the length of his legs on either side of her, following them down to his feet.

“Your legs are really long. They’re lovely.”

He absentmindedly wondered when she’d stop talking and start doing what she payed him to let her do. He then remembered that this was part of it, and just simply decided to enjoy the attention. This lady was really nice to him.

Then she adjusted herself to bend down and start kissing down his spine. He trembled and swallowed down the sudden sick feeling accumulating in his stomach. He wished he'd get over his hang ups. Even though they weren't even 'hang ups' as they were preferences. When she got to his rump, she said, “You can pretend I’m a man if that makes it easier for you.”

Which just made him feel guilty because that’s exactly what he planned to do.

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m surprised,” She said, counting the bills, “I mean, you’re cleaner then I thought.”

Nero slipped on his shirt before saying, “Well, no one likes to pay for a grimy product. A lot of people get like that, though. They think ass is dirty, but trust me, dick is far more gamey.”

“You must be very experienced in both.” She winked.

He blushed, but managed a cheeky smile.

He considered getting her number, just because she was so nice to him and could easily see himself talking to her about a hard day, but decided against it. He was too shy, not to mention it would be extremely hard to explain to her husband. He could imagine that phone call going well: _Oh hey, this is Nero. You know, the homosexual prostitute your wife payed to eat his asshole? Can you tell her I called, please? Thank you so much._

He left the pub, after one or two joints with her. As he was walking down the street, a car drove past him. Which braked harshly, leaving a skid mark on the road. It performed a U-turn (hitting the curb on the way) to come around with it’s headlights beaming down Nero’s back.

Nero, with the help of marijuana, immediately started to worry for himself. Was it one of Trojan’s friends? But seeing the piece of shit car made him think it was more likely a desperate client coming his way. That was a pretty sudden brake.

Nero — high strung on a little weed — suddenly thought it was an undercover cop that smelt a prostitute. He kept walking with his head down as the car quickly approached.

The car honked but Nero didn’t stop. It then drove up beside him as the windscreen rolled down. He fast walked.

“Nero!”

He finally stopped when he heard the voice.

He focused in on the driver and felt a lump form in his throat.

“Credo…” He whispered.

His brother was peering up at him, his hair clean and his beard neat, gripping the steering wheel, holding back the urge to leap out of the car and give him a hug.

“How’s it been?” Credo asked, stiffly.

Nero gave a pained laugh, and Credo smiled back.

The younger of the two brothers looked around, before shrugging, “You got a place nearby?”

Credo nodded and told him to get in.

Credo had finally left that house. Nero was proud of him, but couldn't bring himself to ask what happened after he'd left.

During the drive, Credo’s smile fell into a harder, more Credo-like expression, “I smell cannabis.”

Nero giggled. “You call it ‘cannabis’.”

“Nero,” he sighed disappointingly.

“No, no, it’s not what you think! I’m not…not that at all. Some guy offered it and I just said, ‘yeah.’ I’m not buying this sort of stuff regularly. First time in a while, I swear.”

Credo narrows his eyes at him before seeming to give up on the subject.

“I see your tattoo’s done,” Credo said as something to talk about.

“Not really,” Nero held up the elbow, “I was hoping to get some UV ink done. Right now, I don’t have the money for any of that.”

It was horribly awkward. Nero hated that he couldn’t talk to Credo the way he use to, not without his mind going weird places. He just wanted to talk.

 _Any moment now,_ a voice in his head said, _Credo’s going to turn on you and tell you to suck his cock._

He didn’t want Credo to be like that, he knew that he wasn’t, but the scenario kept playing out — and replaying out — in his head. To the point where Nero thought he’d actually said it at one point, when it was just him sighing.

Nero found he no longer trusted Credo to be platonic...and that hurt.

He stayed with him at his flat for a while. It was a nice, simple place. Homely and small. Yet Nero felt high strung in such a place all the time.

Credo went to stand up and make some coffee, and just him standing up when Nero wasn’t paying attention shocked him. The kid immediately shot up out of his seat and took a few steps back towards the bathroom. The only room in the flat with a lock.

“Nero,” Credo said, surprised by the sudden movement, “Are you alright?”

Nero felt stupid. “Fine. I’m fine. You just…you startled me.”

"Well, relax, I was just going to boil the kettle. Did you want tea or coffee?”

“Coffee, sure.” Nero sat back down, scratching the side of his nose.

The conversations kept hitting dead ends. Credo let him know that he could stay here for as long as he wanted, until he got his feet back underneath him. Until they both did, really.

The first night Nero slept at Credo’s, he had a dream of him coming into his room. The spare room was tiny, so in the dream, it didn’t take Credo less than a few strides to get from the door to where Nero was sleeping. He collapsed on him with his full weight. He started kissing down Nero’s neck, pushing his clothes away, in order to get some skin on skin. Nero was paralysed in the dream, unable to stop it, or scream. In fact, when he was able to move, it was to grab his foster brother’s clean, neat hair and pull him in for a kiss.

Nero shot up awake, flung the sheets aside and left. He walked to the park in his pyjamas at 2:30 in the morning. He came back at dawn.

He concluded that the first night was just the hash making him weird and paranoid, but it never got much better.

He found he couldn’t sleep there unless Credo was out and Nero had the apartment to himself. Otherwise he had to go somewhere else. Sometimes “somewhere else” was the project. He was that desperate to avoid the picture of Credo asking for a Trojan-style ‘favour’.

His job remained in his job though. Even after reuniting with Credo.

The number of sexual encounters was gaining momentum. It was exhausting to keep up. Whenever things got exhausting for Nero, he went on autopilot.

It was strange. He felt like he was cheating on someone. The same sort of guilt would settle in his gut as a man two-timing his wife. Even though there was no one he loved, the guilt was there. A sort of phantom betrayal. It was like his soul was still crying for a life he hadn’t achieved. Grasping for the Nero in another universe who had actually managed love. Maybe that Nero was even straight.

His soul — mewling with envy — turned inward on itself, and cursed his mind, leaving him with a sense of cheating on a lover he didn’t even know.

Maybe he’d finally gone mad.

Nero opened his eyes and looked around, coming to terms with where he was as if coming out of a drug haze. He was on his back in another stock-footage, shitty hotel. Someone was getting between his legs and pushing his knees to his chest. He lifted his head off the pillow to check if they were wearing a condom. They weren’t.

Nero pressed a foot in the crook of the man’s hip, forcing him back.

“woah, cowboy!” He said with renewed liveliness, “Put a glove on it.”

 

* * *

 

 

Satyriasis, was a word he heard at one point or another. That’s what they called him. He never looked into it, but he got the gist of what it meant from the context.

 _Satyriasis_ , he sounded it out in his mind, before taking a drag of his cigarette.

On that night he was standing on the stretch, his coat long since discarded, folded neatly beside him, and waiting for someone to come along and sedate his demons.

A red convertible came roaring; slow but loud like a large cat. It excited him, that crawling speed had to mean he was looking for meat.

He assumed the pose that came natural as a breeze to him; hooking a thumb in a belt loop, showing off his taunt skin, and tilting his chin in a way that’d best show off his pretty face. When he saw the man behind the wheel, wearing a red trench coat over broad shoulders, he had a sense of deja vu.

He put the crazy thought aside and slipped on a grin, eyeing up the tall dish he had just been served on a platter, and he assumed that he was just going to be like every other client before.

 

* * *

 

 

Nero’s mind was scattered. Only in this fever dream way could he recall things with clarity. He’d jump from one memory to the other, until all the events of his past have played out in his head in a completely scrambled, but perfectly horrid order, and make him cry. Nero — dear reader — would cry harsh and painfully into his pillow, or into his jacket, or into his hand as he rolls away from a John in the middle of the night, trying to stifle himself and get a reign on his emotions.

He reminds himself that he has fun. That he gets off. That he gets paid for something he’d do for free, if only people weren’t so deliciously gullible. He reminds himself that he’s free.

Then remembers Kyrie and the sobbing fits threatened to take hold of him all over again. Then he'd remember how it the guns sounded, how Trojan looked full of holes.

Now it was Dante.

Now it was Dante; the new Trojan.

Despite everything he’d been taught and had taught himself, he ached to see him again. He wanted him to touch Nero…touch him anywhere he wanted to touch him. He’d be honoured to receive a finger. He wanted him wholly, so much that the sheer thought of his body made him hurt. The mention of his name made him tense and grit his teeth with hate and need.

And he wasn't going to say a word about the things that have happened. Dante might get the wrong idea and think Nero wanted revenge or something. That wasn't the case.

Despite the lessons he’d carved into his skin with ink, his markings of the dead, how he’d bled away his innocence and scratched down a permanent reminder, he’d fallen like an idiot.

Like always, he’d fallen hard, with the keenness of a guided missile.

Nero was completely — and utterly — fucked.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how does two super long chapters sound after a long loooooong break to a story you've all probably forgotten about? Yeah? Yeah!
> 
> Next chapter shall be the last one for Devil Bringer and will finally have Dante back as a main character (I've missed him so).
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment.


	9. Ultraviolet Finish

  
“Wow,” Nero muttered, “He wasn’t joking around.”

Most bars look terrible in daylight, but he doesn’t come for the exterior decorating. Upon emerging from one of them, he found Lady waiting for him in a car. He’d figured going to the other side of the city would be good for a change of pace, but Dante had other plans. He seemed pretty intent on enforcing that order he made, of having Nero spend some more time with him.

She opened the passenger door for him, as if she was his personal valet, “Hop in, hotshot.”

He couldn’t see her expression behind the glasses, but she mustn’t be too happy. At least he’d guess as much; having to put on airs for someone like him.

“And if I don’t want to?” Nero sang, walking right past her, “Say, I want to stretch my legs for a bit.”

Without missing a beat, she was right behind him, and a manicured hand clasped around his bicep with surprising strength, “Then you’re going to be in for a rough day.”

She yanked Nero back to the car, with him muttering, “alright, okay, yeesh.” along the way.

Much like the bars on the other side of the city, Devil May Cry looked washed out under the sun. The sign especially. The lettering looked like empty blood vessels, it needed the pulsing pink neon to give it life. Places like this looked their best at night, when the lights are on and everything else is out of sight.

“Does he live here?” Nero asked.

Lady doesn’t answer, instead just silently removes her sunglasses as they walk in. People were still around, but not the usual clientele. As old school rock played from the jukebox, only broken by a soft buzz of conversation. Men in dress shirts and pants were bent over the pool table, and more wearing gun-holsters were loitering around the booths.

He expected them to say something to Lady as they passed up the stairs, but those who noticed her merely nodded their heads respectively before returning back to their drinks.

It was only when they were on the top floor that Nero asked, “Who’re they?” Only to be rewarded with a slight smile.

“See anyone you liked?” Lady jested.

Before Nero could take offense to that — or even realize that he hadn’t when he should’ve — she’d shoved him into Dante’s office and closed the door behind him.

Dante was crouched by the drink cabinet, searching around the back. Upon hearing the door, he cast a courtesy glance over his shoulder, before going right back to rifling through.  
  
Nero just stood there, playing with the edges of his shirt. Dante eventually held up two identical bottles.

“Which one looks like rum to you?” He asked.  
  
They were crystal, and without labels, half full of amber-looking liquid. 

Nero blinked, “I don’t know, I’m not a drink expert.”

Dante popped the cap sniffed one, “Neither.”

He sniffed the other, before shrugging and pouring himself a glass of it, putting the other away. Dante closed the cabinets and walked smoothly over to his desk, propping his feet up on the top. Nero was curious when this little play at normalcy would stop, and Dante would finally get to the point.  
  
He was still trying to figure it out, why Dante was so hell bent on Nero coming here today, that he sent his right hand over to pick him up. Leaving the kid full of nerves seemed to be Dante's favourite past time, however. 

“The boys downstairs are behaving themselves, I hope?” He pinned Nero to the spot with a look over his glass, taking a sip. 

“They…well, I mean they seemed to be,” Nero muttered, shifting his weight around, “I mean, I don’t know them, but they didn’t seem like the ‘party hard’ sort.”

Dante chuckled, “Oh they are, trust me. In fact I was curious about how you’d react.”

Nero shrugged, “Again, I don’t know who they are.”

“Think of them as employees,” Dante said, “I’ve been thinking for a while, in fact, about offering you a job. Have you join them.”

That came as a surprise. Never-mind not knowing what the job is, but being offered one at all was a phenomenon. He didn't expect people to bother with him anymore. 

“A job?” Nero said, before batting his eyes exaggeratedly. “For me?”

“Yes. Although, I had to figure out if you were free to work,” Dante threw back the last of his drink and growled at the burn. “You know, I would’ve appreciated you telling me that you were getting payments from Jester.”

Nero just stared, for a second or so, before he looked up and met Dante’s gaze. The expression that met him there gave him pause. It was cold and hard. Completely void of humour, and not like Dante. Not like Dante at all. Then he realised how grave a transgression he’d made.

“Wait…wait, no, it’s not like that! I'm not spending time with you on his order. It’s not that I’m on his list or anything. I don’t know what your connection to him is, but it’s not how you think. I don’t work for him, he just sort of keeps putting money in my account without me doing anything for him!” Nero almost cringed at how he sounded to his own ears. 

“He’s putting you into debt, kid,” Dante said evenly, “He’s making you owe him.”

“But I hadn't done…”

“You’ve been spending it. You’ve nailed your own coffin by using the money he gives you. He expects you to jump when he whistles, when the time comes. When you’re deep enough in that you’d have no other choice but to swim to the rafts he puts out. Once he's got you on one, once you're depending on him, he'll threaten to cut it open if you don't do as he says, and feed you to the fish.”

“It’s not…” He felt like an idiot for not telling him, but it wasn’t any of his business, right? Why would he tell him? “I didn’t think…”

Dante raised an eyebrow, “You thought it was compensation money? For what happened to Trojan?”

The name came like a slap to the face. How did Dante know about that? How much more did he know?

Then it really hit him. Finally.

Maybe Dante knew everything. Maybe he could recite every word of Nero’s long-winded and pathetic story back at him in French. Maybe he knew the whole story before they sat down for pizza. He was just pretending not to know, just to see what Nero was willing to share himself.

That pizza wasn’t a date, it was a job interview.

It was all a show. Dante knew where he’d been, what he’d done, who he’d done it with, but just didn’t know the thought that went behind it. He’d fucked up now. He must’ve…no wonder Dante had been acting so weird. Nero felt strangely cold, as if he’d burned out all of his emotions the night before, now nothing was left but a vague disappointment in himself. Betrayal in Dante…

Nero didn’t respond, and Dante got his answer.

The older man began pouring himself another drink, and lightened his tone, “I understand your situation at least, which is why I’ve decided to pay it off for you.”

Nero blinked, “You did what?”

“The money you owe him is pennies and nickels compared to what I’ve got to deal with. It wasn’t hard.” He put his feet up, and smiled softly, “Consider it an expungement.”

“A what?”

“Doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re hired.”

It was silent in the room for a moment, before Nero finally got a handle of the situation. It had all gone so fast. Hired. So it really had been a job interview, and now he had work. That didn't seem right.

“Well, you could hire me, if you really want,” Nero said dejectedly, with his thumbs in his jean pockets, “But I don’t have any skills.”

“You work out regularly, you know how to fend for yourself,” Dante counted each point on one hand, “you have no ambition, and you’re willing to sleep with people for money. Those are my only prerequisites and you fit them all.”

Four in total.

Nero licked his bottom lip, “I…well, I guess you’re right.”

Dante seemed to read something in Nero’s expression then, “You know, it wasn’t too long ago that Lady was where you’re standing.”

When he saw how that got Nero’s attention, Dante continued, “I’d pulled the same stunt with her, pizza then a job offer, except she shot me in the foot for digging into her past.”

Nero’s eyebrows shot up, “She what?”

Dante began stripping off a shoe and sock right there on the desk. He didn’t need to point out the scar, but did it anyway. It was a large, pinkish white mark on the top of his foot. It was round, but jaggered, with a slight dip to it. Nothing on the underside of his foot though, so it must’ve been embedded.

“Damn,” Nero muttered, “A little closer to the toes and you’d have lost them all. I’m surprised you can still walk.”

“You and me both, kid,” Dante chuckled as he made himself decent again.

Without thinking, Nero scratched at the side of his nose, right on his old scar, “Okay, so, why did you show me that?”

He shrugs before putting his hands behind his head and sitting back. “To give you an idea of what I’m use to around here. That there’s no need to feel like the bad apple, and that you’re not the only one who’s been treated to my asshole behaviour.”

 _‘That you’re not special,’_ Nero thought, but kept it to himself.

Dante kept going, “The whole point of this little song and dance is to make sure I know who I’m hiring, and if at all possible, clean up their messes for them. This way, we’re all future and no past.”

“All future and no past,” Nero echoed, as if half dreaming, “So Jester won’t be bothering me.”

“Not under my watch, he won’t.”

Nero nodded, “And instead my money will be coming from you.”

“If you pull your weight, yeah, you won’t be worrying about money for a long, long time.”

It was too good to be true. He’d learned not to trust things that worked too well. Things that seemed great in his life turned out to be the road further down to hell.

But instead of saying no, Nero surprised himself, “I...I don’t know if I’m a good choice. My talents are limited.”

“I’ll find the perfect jobs for you, I always have.” Dante hooked a finger at him, “We could start right now.”  
  
To better illustrate the instruction, he lowered his feet from the desk and parted his legs, so the crotch of his pants stretched across his bulge. 

Nero stood there for a moment, debating his options. He had the choice to say no here, Dante seemed like the kind of guy to respect a no.

He walked around the desk languidly. Got down on his knees without being told to, between Dante’s thighs. But he stayed right there, staring up at him, waiting for a firm hand to make him do what he’s suppose to. Dante stared right back, and didn't bother fighting back the superior smile as it came to his lips.

A few painful seconds tick by and Nero finally got what he’d been waiting patiently for. A hand in his hair, yanking hard, presenting his cheek for the open palm that came cracking down, flaring his cheek up to a bright pink. He let out a sharp chuckle, which gets silenced by the back hand.

After the third hit, Nero was tugging against the fist in his hair, but not to get away. It was to be be brought closer, down further between Dante’s legs. It was only after the fifth smack, that he was let go. He all but fell into the old man’s lap and got to work opening his fly like he was on a deadline.  
  
Dante sat back and watched, more then pleased with himself. More than pleased with Nero's answer, as his lips parted and welcomed his cock. The warmth of his mouth, and then further down, his throat, made Dante tense and melt all at once. He wondered if he could live without this feeling, as he carded his fingers through Nero's fringe. The boy purred at the touch, his eyes rolling up to watch Dante's expression.

Sure, Nero could do this. A business relationship to put some distance between them, while keeping them close. He could do this. And maybe with Dante’s pay-packet, he could finally finish his tattoo as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I finally finished it. Only took...what, two years?
> 
> Hopefully it was a good enough read, despite it!


End file.
